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space-writes · 9 months

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writeblr positivity tag!

tagged by the lovely @serenanymph here! tysm!

no-pressure tagging @saltwaterbells @memento-morri-writes @sam-glade and @loopyhoopywrites <3

1. What motivates you to write?

The desperate urge to read about the characters and situations in my brain. If I don’t write them nobody will. I am trapped in a hell of ‘if I want content for my OC’s I have to make it’ and I simply cannot type fast enough.

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

Recency bias is showing, but honestly this bit from feel me from the inside still makes me happy. (that fic is a vivisection dead dove thing, read at your own risk)

After an age, the pain is nothing but a faint ache, dysphorically familiar—he hasn’t felt like this since he was Xunhrae, though even on her worst days she never suffered so intensely.

I just really like writing trans bits into my characters narrations. I have two trans mains in my two fic series rn, and I have not anywhere ever said the words ‘they are trans’ explicitly, it’s all implication and more subtle references. and i like it that way. (also i apparently did a good enough job of telegraphing how trans ashenivir was that fox clocked him before anything was mentioned which is perfection to me. that boy is pure transmasc magic.)

3. Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

Now normally I would be insert Sorrow here, but @lawful-evil-novelist has recently bestowed Rhylfein Dyrr upon the blorbo-rotator in my brain. He’s a drow, the spare body for a lich, and knows it. He’s pretty (he’s got long red hair and i just. pretty) and violent and has so many issues he, like all my blorbo’s, is not going to deal with.

He has been immediately shipped with my boy Vizaeth and now they both have something in the vicinity of a relationship resembling healthy and it makes me so happy. Also they have opposite kinks and it’s really funny.

4. What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

Second drafts. First drafting is super fun, but second drafting is fun, and also a puzzle, and also it’s when the story for me starts to actually take on the shape it’s meant to have. I know the characters, I know what I want it to look like, and I have the stabilisers of pre-written stuff to get me started/keep me going when I’m stuck. It’s like refining a sketch: I did the hard part of blocking it in, and now I get to make the shapes fun.

5. What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Lately it’s consistent metaphors. I’ve been doing a lot of editing, and picking and applying specific types of description to fully realise a theme and motif in a fic or a chapter is very satisfying, and I think I’m pretty good at it.

Also dialogue. I’m great at dialogue.

6. What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

The community! When I made this blog a couple months ago i was dead certain it would be me, my handful of beloved loyal fic readers, and maybe a couple bots. I have been blown away at how welcoming everyone is, and by the level of creativity constantly on display. It’s like a free inspiration machine logging in to see everyone’s work every day!

7. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

have i mentioned obsidian yet? :p

i also use the free version of pro writing aid but honestly i spend more time arguing with it than accepting its advice, so at this point it doesn’t count as that helpful.

8. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

infernii my beloved.

also actually, yeah, my magic system. I like that it’s simple but fun. I like playing with components for my spellcasters!

9. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

take a break. take a walk, take a nap, get a snack. five minutes. a week. I know you don’t want to, but you’re going to get through this with way less pain if you step away from it. If it’s a writing problem, chances are you’ll solve it the minute you step away from the words. If it’s a life problem, you need the energy to deal with it. Take a nap. The words will be there when you come back.

10. Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

@foxboyclit has been screaming in my inbox about my fic for months now, and is the best possible cheerleader. im putting you in the dedication for this book, bestie, you can’t stop me

@lawful-evil-novelist has hands down some of the best visual concept writeups ever, and working on fic with her/hearing about her fantasy wip inspired me to pick mine back up. i would not have written half as much this year without you

@britta-ashcroft has been like. the og #1 fan for obedience, and also yells about half the other stuff i write with such enthusiasm that i want to write more purely to cause more yelling. im sorry for inflicting so many terrible, unhinged boys upon you (← lying)

@saltwaterbells was one of the first writeblr’s i followed when i decided to start in here, and their writing style is so unique. hunger like smoke is just aaahhhhh!! every time you post snippets i am devouring them with both hands

@serenanymph is also going in here because Beast has so much cool worldbuilding and magic

if i keep going i’ll end up just. tagging everyone in my writeblr folder. you’re all awesome!!

BLANK QUESTIONS

1. What motivates you to write?

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

3. Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

4. What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

5. What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

6. What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

7. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

8. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

9. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

10. Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

#writer positivity tag #tag games #writeblr

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iamtooasharptool · 2 years

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the comfort of amber’s embrace

cast: gn!reader x Amber; Paimon

content: detailed account of trauma response, dissociation, panic attack, touch/hug without consent

summary: Amber holds you while you have a panic attack

The first days you spent in this world, separated from your twin, you spent in complete shock. If you allowed yourself to think of this place as new and different, if you let yourself accept how you were walking paths you’d never tread, eating food you’d never heard of, slaying creatures you’d never imagined, you know you wouldn’t stop screaming and crying during the day the same way you do in your dreams.

So you spend time with these people; you help the townsfolk with their requests. You listen to their stories, the lore of their personal lives, and the interconnections in the community history. You allow the shallow part of your mind to be curious and you ask a question or two. You express interest in a recipe and someone teaches it to you. You notice a flower and someone explains what it is used for. There is a shift in your consciousness between the you you always were and this new vessel.

They call you The Traveler and you come to prefer this to your name. In some time you’ll meet someone who meditated themselves into this division of body and mind, but for you this doesn’t feel like a choice. Sometimes a sweet-scented breeze will graze against your face and you will remember who you were and you’ll immediately grab your chest because you believe that’s where the pain is coming from, and your eyes will fill and your lungs will empty and as you struggle to regain composure and connect back to being The Traveler, your comrades will come to your side and help you breathe again.

Today, you have one of those moments.

“Oh no, it’s happening again! Amber! Amber, come help!” Your first companion in this world is hovering near you, never quick to touch you, especially not when you’re in this state.

“Hey! Hey, you’re going to be okay!” Though you can’t focus on anything you’re seeing, you imagine her gliding through the air to come to you. She’s ignorant enough not to ask if she can touch you, and while this would typically concern you, your body is actively falling into her embrace. You’re able to stop clutching at yourself and grip at her clothes while you feel and hear yourself releasing a sob so intense the nearby townspeople will describe it as wailing when they gossip about you tomorrow.

“Ssshhh, sshhh,” she makes a sound as if to quiet you, but you feel comforted. She holds you in her arms and you focus on the heat your bodies make together. Her arms around you don’t feel like a hug, but like the tight embrace of furs on a winter night. Even through your pain you wonder how someone so small and naïve can make you feel so safe. “That’s it, you got this,” she tells you, before you realize you’re beginning to breathe more slowly.

From your awkward crouching position and her kneeling beside you, she shifts and falls on her behind. You’re in her arms and between her legs and you feel like she is a hot spring and every muscle in your body has finally relaxed in her water. She smells like clean sweat and grass and you’re starting to realize you’ll have to let go of her sometime soon and the idea makes you suck in air.

“I’m so proud of you,” she tells you, without changing her tone from her typically cheerful and somehow also no-nonsense attitude. “You got through it and you’re going to be okay.”

She doesn’t know that but you’re too exhausted to defy her. You sigh and force yourself to focus on your breathing because you can’t use this woman as a crutch like you want to for the remainder of your stay. The idea of staying sends a painful chill through your chest and back and you finally rise from Amber’s body to sit momentarily between her legs before she sits and shifts them from you, a hand on your back and rubbing softly while you hold your aching head in one hand.

You don’t apologize and you don’t feel embarrassed, or at least you try not to let yourself. You remind yourself that your reaction is real and valid and you’re allowed to have it. For universe’s sake, you were just picking flowers; it’s not like you inconvenience her at all.

You turn to look at her, her gaze that of a peer and not of a helper. There is no pity in her brow, but the furrow shows concern. You find yourself wondering what this woman has experienced to know how to handle such panic. There is no softness on her lips, but instead a tension in her jaw. Her face spells anger, and when you realize this, yours begins to smile.

“Well, that’s the spirit!” she says, before exhaling and taking her hand off from your back.

“You were worried about me,” you acknowledge.

“Of course we were worried about you!” Paimon squeaks from nearby and you turn to see your companion’s expression as the kind you were expecting from Amber, with wide eyes full of tears.

“Thank you, Paimon,” you tell her, and she’s off on a tirade about what she’s thinking and feeling, and you turn to Amber while rolling your eyes and say, more softly, and much less out of a feeling of obligation, “thank you.”

She stands up from the ground and your gaze follows her. In her typically dramatic fashion she puts her hands at her hips and responds to whatever Paimon is saying.

You are The Traveler and these are your people. You smile. You want them to never stop talking. You lay down in the grass and close your eyes, wondering if maybe by having Amber beside you, you’ll sleep soundly tonight.

#genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact amber #genshin impact fanfic #genshin amber

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dentistenthusiast · 1 year

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danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years

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Romanced! Male!Companions react to Sole/Lone/Six being unable to walk the morning after.

I’ve got M!Companions from FO4, FO3, and FONV here, but let me know if you guys want me to include anyone else at all!

Might be just a little NSFW?

;)

Fallout 4 --

Danse:

Danse would feel absolutely horrible. After the initial flush on his cheeks at the mention of sex, his expression would turn to one of devastation. There honestly wouldn't be any sense of satisfaction whatsoever at having hurt you, and he would internally berate himself for not being as attentive to you, and as aware of your reactions as he should've been. That day he would tell you to take it easy and he would be at your constant beck and call in an attempt to make it up to you. He would spend all day beside you, working on cleaning and repairing your weapons and armor, engaging in idle conversation, and maybe listening to the radio. The next time you two are intimate he will be exceedingly gentle with you, and will take extra care to ensure you are more prepared for him before really getting into it.

Deacon:

He would feel really bad to have hurt you enough to impact you like this, but also he would feel just a small twinge of satisfaction at having been able to do so. He'll do his best to take care of you after you tell him about it though, spending the whole day with you in bed, just chatting away, playing little games with you, like “two truths, one lie” or 20 questions and the like. When the time does come for you two to be intimate again, he'll have you take the lead a few times in a row to get an idea of your preferred pacing so he can replicate it better and hopefully not hurt you in the future. But, and he's not particularly proud of this, he will ask your permission to tell some of the others back at HQ what had happened. (He just really just wants to see the look on Carrington’s face, and prove a certain something to Glory about his anatomy. But, of course, he wouldn’t use your name if you didn't want him to. Discretion is this man’s forte, after all).

Hancock:

Is it still considered aftercare if it happens the day after you've had sex? Well, whatever it’s called, Hancock would do all that he can to make up for how he had made you feel. He should know better after all by now, he would feel horrible and try to think back to the way you had reacted to some of his movements in an effort to pinpoint what exactly had hurt you so he could make sure to never do it again. If you wanted chems to numb the pain, he'll surely offer them, and besides that, he'll spend the whole day just looking after you. Holding you close, telling you jokes and stories, making you food, maybe giving you a message, just anything to make you feel better. And when you two are intimate again, he'll be sure to make it up to you. Big time.

MacCready:

Initially, he might feel a distinct sense of pride at having rendered you immobile with his vicious love, but once his brain wraps around the fact that you're actually in pain, he'll feel pretty bad. Maybe not as bad as he should, which he tries to hide, but it's pretty obvious given his little grin he has plastered on his face all day. But he’ll be sure to take good care of you, grabbing snacks and refreshments before curling up next to you with a couple of comic books, really just taking full advantage of the day off. From now on, when the two of you do have sex, he will try to prevent this from happening again by having you be in control for the most part, at least until he learns your body and its limits a bit better. He still might not completely ease up, but he’ll at least make it seem like he’s not as proud of what he’d done as he actually happens to be. And just a heads up, he may just bring up the fact that he was the one who “loved you so hard that you couldn’t walk” at every given opportunity, so just be aware of that.

Nick:

The poor old detective would feel dreadful, this was part of the reason he'd been hesitant to engage in physical acts of intimacy with you in the first place. Even if you assured him it was nothing more than some temporary soreness, he'd have trouble rationalizing being with you intimately for a little while. He would also take an easy day himself so he could keep an eye on you and get you whatever you might need. When you did manage to convince him that you would be okay to have sex again, he would be overly tender and gentle, just to make sure that you know how much your well-being means to him, and to assure you that he would never repeat the actions that had ended up hurting you ever again. As far as he was concerned, he wanted you to wake up feeling good after being with him, to feel satisfied and giddy and maybe just a little tired, but certainly not in pain.

Preston:

Oh lordy, good luck trying to get him to touch you again after he finds out that he hurt you. Initially, his brain would send a little spark of pride to the forefront of his mind when you first told him, but his conscious self would instantly shut it down, disgusted by the fact that it was present at all. He would insist you take the whole day off and would try to keep up on his work while also looking after you in every way possible. You'll really have to work to get him to be with you intimately again anytime soon, as he'll be quite worried about you, and once you do manage to convince him, he'll be extraordinarily gentle and slow. He's very sweet, but you'll have to be patient with him as he pauses with every heavy breath you release, or gasp you take, or moan you utter. Even good noises are scary for him, but don't worry, he'll get back to his usual pace eventually, and now be extra aware of your every reaction to him; which, as it turns out, can be quite handy.

X6-88:

The courser will be conflicted. On the one hand, you were aware that X6’s lovemaking is rough, you've known that from the start, so the two of you wouldn’t be unused to scenarios like this occurring. However, for it to have escalated to physically impairing you enough to prevent you from walking… that made him feel an ache of regret in his chest. Luckily, X6 doesn't miss a thing, and likely will recall which aspects of the night had led to this specific outcome, and he would try to eliminate those factors from future interactions. As for now, he will ensure that you are safe, and as comfortable as possible; he will guard you as you take the day to rest, and will fetch you anything that you require. Normally, when you were hurt, he would recommend paying a visit to the Institute medical facility, but in this case… he would rather try and help you himself if it comes to it. You’re not entirely sure if it’s because he’s embarrassed, or just possessive over certain areas of your body now, but you’d say his crimson cheeks were a bit of a giveaway.

Fallout 3 --

Butch:

On the outside, he would be the prime example of the sympathetic boyfriend. He would apologize and spend the day cuddling with you, playing with your hair, eating snack cakes and drinking nuka cola. On the inside, however, he would feel a certain sense of fulfillment, and would have to consciously hold back the wicked grin that threatened to spill onto his lips at the thought of his lovemaking being wild enough to make it so that you couldn’t walk. He certainly wouldn’t actively try to do it again, but he also wouldn’t necessarily try to prevent it from happening, so just be prepared for anything. But whether or not he’s successful in making you sore again, he’ll fully dedicate himself to caring for you afterwards, ensuring that you’re comfortable and content in his arms at the end of each night.

Charon:

The ghoul can’t say he’s surprised, he did warn you that this might happen, after all. His previous sexual experiences have all been initiated by past employers, so most of them have ranged from pretty negative ordeals to downright violent encounters, and though he'll try to leave that in the past, it's tough for him to let go of it completely since it’s really all he knows. That being said, he will still feel bad about hurting you, and will really try to take more care the next time the two of you are intimate. You'll have to work together on communication and focus more on foreplay in the future, but Charon aims to please, and would never purposefully try to hurt you (unless, of course, if you told him you were into it ;).

Jericho:

He’ll honestly just grin nice and big when you tell him. Sorry. If you wanted tenderness and sympathy, you should probably look into being with someone else. Jericho would consider this to be an achievement on his part, and assure you that this was a sign that the two of you had really done it right. He might complain a bit about having to stay in for the day, but that doesn't mean he won't still take care of you, in his own sort of way. He'll offer you a drink (or a few), or a cigarette (or a whole pack), and would probably just end up falling back into bed next to you and taking a nice, long nap at your side. He wouldn't really promise to change anything the next time the two of you have sex, but he might try to reassure you that it will get easier with more "practice."

Fallout New Vegas --

Arcade:

Oh, he would definitely laugh, because it's a joke. Obviously you're joking with him… right? No!? But-- how? He would be confused by this, and too busy thinking through what he possibly could have done to make you physically unable to walk, to actually address the issue. Once he snaps out of it, he'll ask if you're okay and try to keep his snarky and sarcastic quips to a minimum for the day. As much as Arcade loves giving you a hard time in general, this time he'd be too embarrassed to bring it up. In the event that you do mention it, you'd best be prepared for the pink hue that would adorn, not just his cheeks, nor even his face, but his entire body. When the two of you do have sex again, Arcade will be happy to let you take the lead so you can better control the pacing and keep from hurting yourself at all, (which really is just a win-win scenario, considering the fact that he really prefers you being in control anyway.)

Boone:

His brows would furrow at the news, barely noticeable through his sunglasses, but he would simply set down his rifle and bag and settle back into bed with you. The ex-soldier would curl his arms around you and stay beside you for the remainder of the day, rubbing his arms along your body comfortingly. He’s not big on small talk, but Boone would love to just sit and listen to you ramble all day long. When the evening comes, he’ll be sure to get up and make you both dinner before encouraging you to go to sleep early. Despite his stoic exterior, he's actually quite the tender caretaker. The next time you two are intimate together, he'll consciously focus on being more gentle and controlled with his movements, and certainly won't be shy in making sure you're properly "prepared" for him when he does get a little more rough.

Raul:

Aw, the poor old ghoul would feel horrible about hurting you, the ridge above his eyes would crinkle upwards as he flashed you a sympathetic smile. He'd be a little embarrassed about it as well, feeling like it was rude of him to let his self-control slip enough to have ended up hurting you. He'd take care of you for the day, taking the opportunity to tidy up your living space as he chats with you about anything and everything, telling you stories of his life from before the bombs dropped, teaching you some words in Spanish, and telling cheesy jokes to make you laugh. He would give you a bit of time to recover before agreeing to sleeping with you again, and this time he would suggest either you taking the lead, or using a safe word in case his control started slipping again.

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deviltoys · 3 years

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― this is my first time requesting so let's hope i don't fuck this up [lmao].

taking tobio's [who's the pastor's son] virginity and watching him ask for forgiveness for doing something so inappropriate in the church but then you proceed to degrade him. 🙇

— ‘𝘂𝗻𝗵𝗼𝗹𝘆 𝘃𝗼𝘄𝘀.’

tobio kageyama x top!male reader. (wc; ?)

#a/n: stop. this is my favorite request, ever. virginity loss ‘n blasphemy??? hello? too fuckin’ good, been cravin’ a good virgin tobio. thank you fer’ this, it was perfect!

warings. NSFW CONTENT, MINORS DNI, virginity loss, sacrilege, taboo acts, incest, age gap (18-30), pastor!reader, exhibitionism, sex in a church, misusage of the bible, religious speak, little to no prep, dumbification, creampie, degrading, manipulation, corruption, belly bulge, daddy k.

juvenile ministry took up a huge chunk of the church you operated. being the father to tobio kageyama, it was only natural that he was a frequent volunteer for the group of children who'd visit you both to be taught the righteous laws of god.

your boy was so doting with kids, it lay a smile across your lips to see him so devoted as you'd help demonstrate an array of practices to the youth. he was an apprentice of some sort— you two had a closely knit relationship when it came to chruch work.

almost a little too close.

nobody would ever suspect a thing, right? their nurturing pastor and his passionate son; they wouldn't dream of commiting any corrupt acts against the lord they so dearly fawned about.

the children certainly wouldn't know, such mindless followers. that's why during youth hours the two of you would mysteriously ‘disappear’ while everyone else contributed holy related activities to do while father y/n and tobio went to assist the lord.

you had be fighting the urge to take your son aside and tear his tiny body in half right there inside the sacred haven. but poor little tobio was a virgin, nobody would dare attempt to be the one who would strip the priest’s son of his innocence. you and the younger male had only gone as far as sucking on each others lips or caressing one another in sensual ways that would surely be forbidden by the church.

it was unethical practice to do anything under sexual pretense inside the chapel; with your offspring no less. you were already commiting unforgivable acts unbeknownst to your fellow ministers— what was one more? just another sin strewn onto the pile of ones you had been collecting throughout the years.

the line between faith and abandonment finally blurred out when you caught your little kageyama with pants a size to small for his waist. the fabric rode up, perfectly rounding out and drawing scrutiny to his chubby ass. you were well aware of the scandalous gestures he would send your way while he kept his attention on the children. wiggling his ass out every so often was his main form of communicating his intentions.

he was at last ready to make his daddy proud, giving his body to him as though you were christ himself; submitting to you.

all of his coherent brain function was corrupt by you a long time past, the degenerate acts you two would shun from the eye of society had finally caught up to him. he needed the embrace of his dad, his loving, heavenly father that would fill his holes up with the holy spirit.

“tobio, follow me for a second please? i need to speak with you privately for awhile.” a forged grin took reign of your lips, softly signalling for your son as you escorted him through the barren temple halls. after he had finished passing out coloring activities for the group to engross in, he swiftly followed your lead.

“yes father, what is it that-” you barely gave kageyama a warning before slipping your forearms under his thighs, entangling the remainder of his limbs around your lower and upper body. you lifted his smaller from with ease, hot breath tickling the shell of his ear as your tone dropped to a deep whisper.

“are you ready to give your body to our savior, tobio?”

“yes father y/n, yes i am.”

that was all the confirmation you needed to proceed with blessing him. abandoning your clothes at the altar of god, you began to strip the boy attached to your body. steadily yanking down his suit pants, your cock already springing to life as his own came into view.

it was insatiably erect, you forbid your son from even being curious when it came to exploring his hormones. you knew one day keeping him fresh, unexposed to lewd activity would come in handy.

and it did, oh god it did.

his body was sensitive to the touch, you were concerned he was going to cum without you even putting a hand near his bulge. much less before the fun started. it was like caressing a rock, he was so stiff, the tip already dribbling a tiny bit of pre by the time you were able to finish your first stroke to the hilt.

after giving a few more measly flicks to the head of his cock; you guided tobio’s naked body towards the bible you had prepped specifically for this occasion. the oak pulpit stood tall amongst the various rows of seats— at the head of the stand was kageyama; exposed, ass out, and face burried deep inside the open book sprawled out for easy reading.

he could barely squeak out the first few passages as your lube coated fingers spread his cheeks and stretched his virgin hole to a worthy size; able to fit your fat cock.

it burned and ached, the agony of your fingers poking around his walls overthrew any noticable pleasure that may have slipped in unnoticed; it was torture. he thought intimacy was supposed to feel good. he should've listened when you told him it wasn't fun, how it was a crime against god and how he'd be severely punished for doing as such until he was proposed to by the right man.

but you were the right man, at least that's what you would tell him. so why was it so discomforting, so harsh? you weren't purposefully harming him were you? the paranoia was getting to him, it was so overwhelming, the thought of the man he adored so dearly causing him pain. hot, salty tears pricked his eyes, lashes catching any access fluid as they could meanwhile the clear streaks dusted his cheeks with red.

his hole was still barely twitching with anticipation, and would be for awhile; throwing your head back, you painfully fed kageyama’s rim your length. every inch that ventured just as deep as the last forced strained hiccups to seethe from behind his teeth. he was unbearably tight, his guts sucked you in while his walls showed heavy resistance— pushing you in and out of your trembling son.

“fucking hell.. dumb bitch, you’re so tight. ease up, i thought you'd serve me better- maybe i was wrong.”

no no, you were wrong, right? he was great, such an obedient little cocksleeve just for you, all for you. all he ever did was to please you; the man who he chased after for years, claiming he wasn't as nice as he predicted? panick only settle into him more, ruthlessly he began bucking his hips to match your unenthusiastic thrusts. attempting to appease you wasn't an easy feat, but he was so utterly devoted to you that the condition of his vessel meant nothing if it meant you were proud of him.

he attempted to slur out a form of quivering tongue with a few biblical quotes shoved in-between. whatever he was reciting wasn't human, infact you couldn't tell if he was fucked out or just anxious. whatever it was, your words had preformed their purpose; you were far too impatient to fully prepare him for the world of sex. forcing him to mature on the other hand seemed to run it's course— he was the one himself impelling himself onto at the end of the day.

your arms snaked around his tiny waist, hoisting his feet up and off the ground. the entirety of his lower half no longer met with the floor, steamy tears teased eyes while the remainder of his efforts worked into engulfing you whole. the stimulation of being carried off the ground just like that was unimaginable; only to have his pussy pounded mercilessly into the wooden podium.

“ack! ah.. mm. daddy, pl- please i can do better! m’promise, don't hold back- i want to feel every inch of you!” so vulgar, you weren't aware of tobio’s filthy mouth.

angling your hips to perfectly kiss his prostate with every shift in your pace, you plowed repeatedly into the spongy skin until he was no longer babbling on about anything coherent. whatever bible quote he was now listing off was lost within euphoria; his hole was loosening up more and more with each thrust you planted deep inside of his stomach.

he know knew how desperately he craved seeing your cum gush right out of his gaping ass. more than anything in the world.

“hah, what a stupid whore, letting your father fill up your belly like this? no wonder you can't do anything but flatter me.”

“m’not a stupid whore, daddy i promise!”

the way his cunt squelched around you told otherwise, you didn’t let up on the insults; constantly bombarding the male with word after word. his trembling thighs and drool stained expression prompted you to continue the vile humiliation.

“oh-ho yes you are, you're lucky i’m even taking the time to fuck you like this. the lord wouldn't dare touch you, so why should i? you're charity work kageyama, nothing but pity.”

giving his plump rear a deathly tight squeeze, you ramped up the vigor in your movements. aching breaths escape your nose as you send forth more shivers down the length of his spine— as much as he wants to keep you satisfied he can only withstand so much. this is his first time being lost within the rapturous waves of an orgasm. religious words still on the tip of his tongue as your name bounces off the empty church hull.

there's a puddle of semen beneath you at his feet, he's cum far too many times for you to count and he's just now; once again fighting for release. his limp, shaking shaft all swollen as it spurts out the umpteenth load that session.

you swiftly follow behind, using the last bit of strength in your twitching thigh muscles— you sent your hips forward, fully submerging your fat cock down his rectum. he yelps almost violently, but he adores it. the way you use up his spent hole. the amusement in his moans fizzle once he finally comes to his senses, realizing there's no cum sliding down his guts and into his tummy. the expected feeling of warm, sticky fluid staining his intestines was the big prize he was looking forward to.

“don’t you remember, your only use is to please me tobio. and you couldn't even do that, that's why you don't get daddy's cum. understand?” a disappointed glare forms on your face, once he's luckily unable to see.

he implores like you've never heard from anyone before, you've had your fair share of sexual favours under the church’s nose. but the dark haired male in particular was one of a kind, he was begging you for your seed like his life was dependant on whether or not you fufilled his lustful desires. he needed your cum, right there, right now.

even attempting to guide your entirely hard cock right back into his enormous asshole, which you allowed. your composure was iron-willed, you knew you could cum on command if need be. giving into his sinful fantasies, you pistoned yourself balls deep once more— your hands moving his hips for him as he pleaded for the sweet release of your fluids.

“please daddy, m’such a good cum dump! i promise, please just cum inside of me. i need it, i’ll do anything! anything!”

anything indeed, you had just the thing in mind. and you were sure tobio wouldn't refute, how could he? there wasn't any other choice, it was your cum or no cum. simple as that.

#𓉔 — m.list #𓉔 — directory.#𓉔 — works.#c; tobio #kageyama tobio x top male reader #kageyama tobio x male reader #tobio kageyama x top male reader #tobio kageyama x male reader #haiykuu x top male reader #haikyuu x male reader #dark haikyuu #haikyuu smut #tobio kageyama

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give-grian-rights · 3 years

Text

Bets Against The Void (Whitelist AU)

Well.. I DID IT. This is only chapter 1. I planned on this being a one-shot, but if it was, it would take me so long to finish it. So, chapters it is.

This is crossposted on AO3. I don’t exactly stand with a lot of what it’s doing, but it’s not particularly easy to find fics on Tumblr I feel..and I will never go back to Wattpad. Not again.

@petrichormeraki Whitelist AU fic :)

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

They had just left the server to practice for MCC, that was all. Wilbur would be so proud, the two youngest would be sure, if they managed to win one. For Tommy, it would be his first win not aided by his (Troubled, distrustful, anarchist-) family, and Tubbo’s first-ever.

Teams for the next MCC had yet to be announced, but it hadn’t mattered. Tommy had been invited back to every competition since MCC 2, after all- and the competition had already become accommodating to Tubbo, following the..Circumstances, of The Festival.

The admins hosting the event were concerned, following the events they’d hear of about their server. They hadn’t known much; no one outside their world, really did. But, well..When asked about the status of Wilbur, and if he’d attend- the silence and reaction of the residents of his world were telling.

Barely a handful of players were at the server, practicing. It was calming, for the teenagers. The two had primarily stuck together, as they tended to do after the Pogtopia-Manburg war. The siblings were back together again. And they had each other- they trusted each other, unquestionably. Something more than they could say about anyone else.

By the time they made it back to the world hub, they were already exhausted. The timezone of their server would be late, they were sure. Their arms ached, and legs wobbled with every step. They both felt as if they could fall down, anytime.

Tubbo’s arm was looped around Tommy’s, content to be in the presence of his best friend, without the responsibility of the world on either of their shoulders’. Other players had barely batted an eye at the two- it wasn’t uncommon for teenagers or children to server hop by themselves. Nor for someone passing through a world hub to have outlandish and otherworldly scars. For them to both be teenagers, and scarred so heavily- well, that was a different story.

Still, not a soul stopped them as the tall blond led his friend to a nearby empty portal. As they stood still, Tubbo instinctively released his arm from the boy. Tommy kept Tubbo grounded to him as he worked, talking idly to them and inquiring about build plans. As Tubbo talked, Tommy quickly fidgeted with his communication tablet.

The thin, hovering device was pressed against the large obsidian frame of an otherwise normal, unlit portal. Pressing out of his inventory, which by mandatory was empty, Tommy opened his server list. The individually named servers popped up.

Some servers were empty, others grayed out and unavailable, no longer tended to. Muscle memory brought him to Dream SMP. The status of the server was buffering- it’s availability of connection unclear. It wasn’t unusual- not for world hubs filled with tens of thousands of players at any given time.

With their SMP selected, the portal flickered for a moment- sparks of neon green rippling within, before quickly fading. The whooshes and crackling of a portal being lit, before failing, caught Tubbo’s ears.

“Uh...Is- is the portal good? Did it light? Why does it feel like it’s uh- not?” They tilted his head to the side, towards Tommy. The blond paused for a moment, blinking in bewilderment with his brows furrowed. “No- no it’s not lit..Uh.. What the shit? Hold on, Tubbo-” he huffed, pulling his tablet off the obsidian wall with ease to inspect it.

Blue eyes squinted at the screen. At the edge of the selection for Dream SMP, was an error sign, much to Tommy’s slight horror. “Fucking..Shit-” he hissed, pressing the icon. “‘Server closed for maintence’- what the fuck!” The teen spat. That got a few heads turned him, at his shouts. Most continued walking, merely giving him a wary glance.

Tubbo’s mouth dropped, scrambling for words. “Wh- why? I- I mean, I guess it makes sense- the- the server’s been acting up, and stuff- but- with what noticed?” He squawked, fumbling with their own device. Gliding their hand over the graphics, each thing he touched was read aloud to him quietly in his comm systems.

While Tubbo worked on locating his own messages, Tommy already found his. He scoffed indignantly, his hand clenching at the frame of the tablet. “The chat system for the server’s down too! Holy shit, fucking- what? Were no one fucking prepared for if we all get knocked out of the server at once? What the fuck!” Slight panic edged into his angered words as he shouted.

“Guess not,” Tubbo shrugged, pushing his tablet away, already frustrated with it. “Did Dream send out any sort of alert, for this?” Tommy only scoffed. The brunnett was sure he was rolling his eyes, as well. “Yeah, with a three-minute fuckin’ notice! Just told everyone to figure it out for themselves, while he fixed shit! What a lil bitch!”

Glares were most certainly being sent towards them by now, Tubbo was sure. Gently pressing himself against the visibly upset and angered boy, he looped their arms back together, reassuringly squeezing his hand.. “We should get out of the way. I’m sure other people are waiting, there’s nothing we can do.” The brunett resigned himself to being the level-headed one between them.

“We can’t just fucking stay here, Tubbo! We ain’t got shit to eat, or anything. It’s not exactly like we thought of packing shit for a few hours of practicing!” The boy protested. He had just gotten L’manburg back, finally, a place he and his Tubbo were okay.

After a moment of silence, Tubbo would speak up once more. “I started installing some more, uh..Hack clients-” “TUBBO WHAT THE SHIT!” “Please, I’d really like to not get in major trouble today.” They’d wince, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. The feeling of stares lingered on his back.

“I got a client that should let me into the world last opened on a portal- which, in this case, should be Dream’s server. So we can get on there and- “Call Dream a dick.”

“Exactly. I wouldn’t think it’s dangerous, or unstable or anything to be there..I’m sure he and the rest of Dream Team are there.”

Walking back to the portal, guiding Tubbo back with him, Tommy unattached his own device from the frame. “Uh, want me to put yours on the portal? Or do you got it, Big Man?” The blond tilted his head towards the other boy expectantly.

Dipping their head in thought for a moment, Tubbo hummed. “You can do it. It’s all set up- besides I already turned my text-to-speech off, I was getting a headache from the voice.” They decided, handing off his tablet to Tommy.

Within moments, Tommy had gotten it set up. Rather than having an individual server selected, the “Connect” button had been highlighted as seen as he reached his friend’s serverlist.

A flurry of colors splashed within the portal, before settling on a distorting purple. Tommy squinted, glancing towards Tubbo. “That..Does not look like Dream’s server color.” Tubbo tilted his head curiously. “Well.. The site did say it could do that- It’s kinda just ripping the IP and plugging it in illigitmently- it’s incapable of displaying the correct resource, basically.” He played with his friend’s sleeve idly.

“..Fucking- alright, sure. Assuming this is safe- are you ready to hop in?” He pushed down any doubts. Really, nothing worse than what the two already lived through could happen. Tubbo grinned, nodding their head. And so, Tommy led the boy into the portal alongside him. Swirling particles filled his vision, as they flurried around the two- and then they were stumbling to the ground.

Tommy’s eyes shot opened- a dull, thudding pain in the back of his head, as he got his footing. Tubbo was doing the same, losing his hold on Tommy to lean against the portal frame to catch himself. “...Well. Fuck.” Tommy hissed, rubbing his temple as he looked around the room.

The large portal behind them had dropped them into a large, pyramid-shaped room. The floor below them was sandy, greenery and bookshelves pressed against the walls. Tommy’s mouth dropped to the floor as he viewed ahead of him.

“W-What the fuck! What the shit these people- th-there’s just! Diamond armor! On display - t-they have fucking elytras! Holy fucking shit! ” He stammered out the words, his brows furrowed together in complete bewilderment.

“What? That’s insane!..This- this sounds like an ocean? Why can I hear water? Are we on an island?” Tubbo warily stepped, testing his footing.

Tommy instinctively reached back to grab his friend’s hand protectively, nodding vigorously. “I think we’re fuckin’ underwater, or some shit! There’s a water column, and- and the walls fuckin’ tilt, and then it’s all water and shit! The ceiling is just the ocean!”

..Descriptions never seemed to be Tommy’s strong suit. Nonetheless, Tubbo nodded along to the words, warily listening. All that could be heard was the crashing water overhead the water-bound structure. The boy shivered with unease at this.

“Are there any players? Did- did us joining get sent through the comm system, do you think?” Tubbo summoned his comm’s back to his hands, but Tommy must’ve already had his out. “Fuckin- i’m still connected to Dream’s. It didn’t give me the option to look at whoever the fuck’s this is. Tommy growled, uneasiness and anxiety gnawing at him.

And then, there was a flash of light and particles. A man in a..Bee-themed, space/futuristic-Esque suit appears on the other side of the room. Another, far more mundane seeming man, manifested next to him.

The energy in the room shifted to something unfamiliar to the two teens. Tubbo shivered, desperately grasping tighter at Tommy. The blond boy had stood rigid, blue eyes cold and wary as he stared challengingly at the two strangers.

While the helmeted, bee-colored man visibly had plates of enchanted Netherite glittering on him, the human beside him was bare of any protection, defenses, or armor. The teen didn’t know what to make of either of them.

Pacifyingly holding up a weaponless hand, the helmet man cleared his throat. “We weren’t particularly expecting visitors, or any surprise drop-ins this late to our season.” Their voice wasn’t accusatory, but it certainly edged on the skeptical side

From the yellow-tinted helmet, Tommy could barely make out a faint reflection of light in purple eyes. His throat felt full of vile, the blond boy practically growling as he held he pushed himself in front of Tubbo.

In retaliation, Tubbo gently shouldered the boy before poking out beside him, facing vaguely towards the man who spoke. “I’m sorry for him- this..This is an accident, uh, Sir.” They chuckled anxiously.

The helmeted man- who by now, Tommy had presumed was the admin- tilted his head. “While accidents aren’t necessarily uncommon on a server such as ours- one quite like this, so far into our progress certainly is.” The Southern fellow beside the bee-helmet man spoke up, his expression passive and at ease as he stared over the boys.

“You two don’t look like you’re here to give us issues- don’t you agree, X?” The helme- X, apparently- surveyed the two teenagers for a moment more, before nodding. “Good, then.” The human(?) smiled, dipping his head.

Tommy scoffed, glaring at the man. “Where the fuck are we?” The blond’s eyes flickered between the two adults stood opposite of them. While the man remained unphased, glancing expectantly at X- said player took a step back, tilting their head.

“Well, considering there’s not really a way to accidentally derp your way into here- I’d expect you’d know.” While X wasn’t unkind, his tone was expectant. Accusatory, maybe.

Before Tommy could open his mouth to blabber and cover their asses, Tubbo put his arm out in front of the other. “It really was an..An accident- it wasn’t this server we were trying to get into- wherever we are.” He’d chuckle uneasily, shifting their weight. They weren’t sure what to make of their unknown surroundings.

“Our home-server seems to be down.. And- no one told us where to go, so I said i knew a way we might be able to go back, and uh..It got us here.” They’d finish, anxiety spiking as he was unable to gauge their reaction.

“Yeah- and we’re not gonna fuckin’ do shit. We don’t even know where the fuck we are. Just- leave us be! Or send us back, or some shit-” “Alright, alright! Hey, we’re not fighting with you!” X would cut off Tommy, who’s blue eyes shot a cold glare to the slightly frazzled man.

The younger Brit couldn’t help but get amusement from the way the masked man was so visibly startled from his swears. “You two..Don’t particularly look in the condition to just.. stay in the World Hub. Do you have someplace else to go? How long have you been locked out?”

Beside the apparent Admin, who had not-so-subtly manifested a transparent screen in front of him, the human looked in exasperated amusement at the helmeted fellow. “Forgetting something there, Shashwammy?” The Southern man spoke with fondness.

Before the admin could react, the man turned back towards the accidental intruders. “You’re in the wonderful world of hermits and crafting, my friends! Hermitcraft Seven, to be specific. I’m Joe, of the Hills variety- and this is my pal, Xisumavoid! Though he’ll likely go by just about anything you can think to call him.”

Tommy looked beside him at Tubbo for a moment, his brows pinched together as he quietly scoffed. This is gonna get really tiring if he talks like this all the time. The blond thought absentmindedly.

In the meantime, Tubbo himself was speechless- positively bursting at the seams. “Hermitcraft?! This is Hermitcraft? Oh, oh void I just broke into Hermitcraft-” They babbled for a moment, jittering as he attempted to compose himself. Tommy raised a brow, eyeing them.

“You say that as if that means fuckin’ anything to me, Tubbo-”

“I. I’m so sorry, uh, Mr. Hills, Mr. Void!” Their voice cracked, as the words ran out of his mouth. “I swear this isn’t something we do on the regular, I’d never want to disrespect anyone, or any server- especially not Hermitcraft!” He’d continue, laughing anxiously.

“I’m a huge fan of the work done here! Just, everything I’ve seen- uh, and, and heard, about the Hermits! Fu- frick. Uh. Sorry!” Tubbo finished, practically panting.

While Joe had seemed appreciative and amused, Tommy couldn’t get a read on Xisuma. Not that he particularly cared what either of them felt; he barely understood the meaning of the words from Tubbo, all that mattered was they weren’t about to belittle the other boy.

“Mr. Void.. That- that might be a new one-” The British admin had quietly chuckled easily, shaking his head. “No, no need for that. I’m Xisuma, or X. I’m glad you appreciate our work, the Hermits around here work non-stop. And we’d be glad to try and help you two, yes?”

“We don’t fuckin’ need help- We stay here, or we don’t. We don’t need pity or some shit. If you’re gonna get all fussy at the fuckin’ idea of us staying in the Worldhub, then just leave us be here, I guess. We don’t need anyone’s help or charity.” Tommy growled, his arms crossed stubbornly. He could hear Tubbo sharply inhale beside him, weakly nudging at his side.

The two inhabitants, Hermits, Tommy mused, seemingly shared a look for a moment. Tommy’s blue eyes were unyielding from them, as Tubbo’s quiet babble of scolding went through deaf ears.

Slowly nodding, the helmeted admin stepped back. “You two don’t have anywhere you could go?” He’d ask, hesitantly. Tommy glanced beside him, at the short, blinded boy. Blue from Ghostbur weakly stained his hands.

No one else outside of Dream SMP had learned about Wilbur’s fate, not yet. That certainly wasn’t a conversation either of them was willing to have yet, with anyone. Dream would be mad. Dream would be furious if word got out on the nature of his server.

With that thought, Tommy tore his gaze away from his friend. The boy stared as close as he could to the Admin’s eyes, a challenging look in his hardened blue eyes. “Nowhere.”

Xisuma conceded, nodding. “Fine, then.” He agreed, his tone far softer than it had any right to be, from such an imposing figure. Tommy pondered for a moment if the Admin was taller than him. The possibility made Tommy feel all the more disdain towards him.

Tommy tilted his head, watching expectantly. “Well then? Can we just be- be fuckin’ left here, or some shit? We don’t need to be babysat.” “Tommy, please, don’t pick a fight here-” “Yeah, yeah, Tubbo..”

Xisuma winced, nodding. “Sure.. If you want to be left alone, that’s fine. There’s Elytras’ in the room behind us, and rockets in the chest. That’s the only way to get out, besides from the Nether. It should be linked to our Netherhub, so you shouldn’t have too big of a trouble, yeah?”

Tubbo hesitantly nodded, his grip tight around Tommy’s hand. “Alright, then.” Xisuma nodded, glancing towards Joe. Tommy had all but forgotten the man was there, the Southerner having been quietly observing them. “Joe, you’re free to go, my friend.”

To Tommy’s perspective, Joe certainly seemed to have some reservations. Whether they were about leaving teenagers unattended or leaving strangers in their server, the blond wasn’t sure. Nonetheless, Joe accepted his fate, nodding breezily before enderpearling his way out of the spawn.

Xisuma turned back to the two, one final time. Tommy didn’t miss the way that Xisuma flinched at Tubbo’s large scars, nearly growling when he saw the admin’s reaction.

“You two have been competing in MCC.” That caught Tubbo, off-guard. The brunnett’s brows furrowed together, tilting his head. “Huh? How do you know that-”

“My Hermits have been competing there for a good while. I need to keep track of them all, I haven’t missed the team announcements.” Xisuma explained breezily, something akin to fondness in his tone. “The other Hermits said that they love MCC, and the other participants. And that they trust almost all of them- don’t take advantage of that, alright?”

Quietly scoffing, Tommy looked away. Beside him, Tubbo nodded. “We’ll try- thank you. For letting us stay here, just for now.”

Despite the situation, Tubbo couldn’t help but feel slightly giddy at the idea of being in a Hermitcraft world. He hadn’t been able to hear about, or see anything about their recent achievements in a long while.

“If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask. I’ll add you two to the communication connection. Most of the Hermits have a..Tendency of getting themselves in trouble, quite a bit. Don’t be alarmed if someone spawns, they’re almost never here long enough to be dragged in,” He spoke casually, easily. Tommy wondered for a moment what exactly their definition of trouble was.

“Someone will be here to check on you, soon. Don’t get yourselves hurt, please. We’re happy to help here.” He continued, glancing between the two. Tubbo fidgetted, nodding numbly, as he could practically hear Tommy roll his eyes beside him.

Quiet mechanical whirring buzzed as holographic, shimmering bee-like wings expanded behind him. “Good, then.” Xisuma dipped his head, before familiar red-and-white rockets appeared in his hands.

Before Tommy could lung to cover Tubbo’s ears, Xisuma had already taken off. White particles were left behind him, but the expected boom never came, merely a small pop and smoke. The sight of them, nonetheless, couldn’t help but leave a bitter taste in Tommy’s mouth.

While Tubbo was visibly startled, cringing and nearly tumbling over, he didn’t feel his chest constricting the way it usually would, typically. They’d both consider it a win, for now. Tubbo fell over into Tommy’s arm, as his best friend pulled him into a side hug.

They both slid down against the wall. The conversation alone had taken out all remaining energy they had left in them. Tommy’s gaze surveyed his friend for a moment. “So,” He said pointedly, Tubbo lifting his head to face him.

“What the fuck was that, and what the hell is Hermitcraft?”

#dream smp fic #whitelist au #dream smp #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #mika-posts #mcyt fic #bets against the void fic #tubbo underscore #tommyinnit #mcyt fanfiction

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edgyspooks · 2 years

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May I see hcs for Ahri, Sona, Lillia and Soraka with an adopted child that is heavily implied to have been in a very bad living situation before they took them in? The child is very quiet, shy and fearful and is prone to crying and nightmares. Is this okay?

This was a lovely little request, I took a great pleasure in writing it. I hope it's to your liking!

Ahri, Sona, Lillia and Soraka as adoptive mothers.

Ahri has never imagined herself to be a mother. The fact that she became the main caretaker of this child, was, initially a coincidence. Especially if the child is human, she will struggle to know how to properly take care of them. However as the time passes, she grows more and more attached to the little person, and more confident in her abilities to parent them. A being that’s not made of magic? How’s she supposed to raise someone like that? Those questions pile up in her head as she continues to do her best to care for the child. She’s the cool kind of mom, easygoing and not particularly strict, letting her child get into all sorts of troubles and mishaps, but if anyone threatens them? She will fight like a lioness to protect her child. And when the child opens up to her about the trauma they’ve suffered before, Ahri will go out of her way to make things right… In any way she deems necessary. But once that’s settled, she’s content to let the child shyly hide in her many tails, and she will always hold and gently rock them whenever they get anxious or sad. Anything to make the little one feel better.

For Sona it was natural, the moment she saw the young child for the first time. In their eyes, she saw the pains of her many friends at the monastery, and her heart immediately went out to them. Adopting them wasn’t a question at all, but as the child moved in with her, she realised the language barrier between them is much greater than she initially anticipated. As she’s initially not able to communicate with them very well, she struggles to make her intent and wishes clear. She’s always there for them to soothe their pains, and she plays the most beautiful music to express her love and devotion to the little person she took under her wing, all in hopes that her feelings come through to them.

And they do, as one day, with the assistance of Sona’s sister, the child shyly begins to learn sign language to better communicate with their mother.

Lillia will spend all of her time with the child, anxious to leave them alone lest they get lost or hurt. She knows very well how scary humans can be, and she will be the most protective caretaker in the world - perhaps resulting in the child being a little bit too sheltered. When the child suffers nightmares as a result of their past trauma, Lillia will tend them away right away. She will always thoroughly check the dreams of anyone who her child befriends, so that she can keep them away from bad company. She wishes her child to grow up surrounded by those pure of heart, so they will not be harmed by anyone ever again.

At the same time, she will encourage the child to slowly come out of their shell. It’s okay to be afraid, but so is facing your fears - a lesson she learns along with them, as she becomes stronger and braver herself to make a good example.

Soraka, while deeply caring for the child’s well-being, would understand that they also need independence to craft their own personality and future. While she’d always be there to fight off any tears and fears, she’ll also encourage the young one to try new things. Of course, Soraka will always be there for them when things don’t turn out so well. She’ll remind the child that she’s always proud of them and the progress they’re making, and that they shouldn’t give up after failure. Seeing the child outgrow their past traumas is, for Soraka, a great reminder of how resilient human beings tend to be. At the same time, the more time she spends with them, the more her heart aches at the fact that she is, one day, bound to lose them forever, as she will remain on Runeterra long after their lifespan runs out. As a result, she is very dedicated to making precious memories with her beloved child, so that even after they’re gone, whether it’s to live their own life, or due to the passing of time, a part of them will always remain within her memories.

#ahri #sona #soraka #lillia #league of legends #lol #headcanons #lol headcanons #league of legends headcanon #found family

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belovedgamers · 3 years

Text

not today, tomorrow

Ao3 link! (comments appreciated <3)

rating: teen and up no archive warnings apply

more eternal duo content about reincarnation au and post-Banquet feels :D /rp

It has been a week since the Banquet.

Eret cannot sleep.

He has tried. Kind of. Sort of. Maybe. He has, at least, attempted to try.

But it hasn’t worked.

And it’s not like they particularly mind.

It has been a week since the Banquet.

Eret has not stopped moving.

Well, she refuses to stop moving, does not feel like they should. It would be… It would be wrong to stop. Foolish did not give up his life for hers so she could waste it in idleness.

(Her legs hadn’t moved, her hands had been immobile and her very lungs had frozen, when he was taken, you did nothing—

They do not know how to forgive themself for that.)

She can’t just… stop. There’s… There’s no time for pauses, no time for quiet, only time to move forwards. Eret builds, and he digs, and he does his best to keep away from everyone else’s land of sight.

(your fault your fault your fault what did you do for them but make a toast and place your hopes in their clawed hands what did you do but kneel before your execution what did you do but spill ichor over obsidian with your lies—)

She does not want to stay idle anymore. And… and she doesn’t really know what she would do with rest, anyway. Eret has much to do, builds to finish, people to look after. Legislation does not happen overnight and without supervision. They have already failed enough.

(Now, isn’t this so much better?)

(... the darkness… within you...)

It’s been a week since the Banquet.

Eret knows. They could tell you the exact amount of minutes that has passed.

Even if the hours pass them by as they fill out paperwork, as they pile stone together and mine for andesite, Eret knows how much time has passed them by, knows the information as well as they know the back of their hand.

There is a golden watch around her wrist.

For Eret, it says, the letters carefully carved in its lug. She has never seen Foolish’ writing, but there is a certainty in his heart, born from the proud look in his emerald eyes the night of—

Born from the proud look in his emerald eyes that night. This is his handwriting, measured and neat so it will fit their name. She has not seen him write, but she has seen him type in the communicator, and knows that his typing is a mess. The idea that impatient, active Foolish sat still, the thought that he carefully, delicately carved these letters, one stroke at a time, on a surface so tiny, not for the grand memory of a build to impress others but for this detail that nobody else would see, it… it…

(“Anything for you, old pal.”)

It’s too much to consider. They do not dwell on it.

He’d carved a small figure in the crown of it, too, a poppy.

It’s her favorite flower. She does not know how the god knew.

(he looked at them with bright, proud eyes and extended a hand, come look, he said, he pleaded, a field of red stretched before their eyes, old pal, he was trying to not be weak, to let himself be vulnerable, there was a look in his eyes, look, i have made you a gard—

Shhhh.)

She does not know how he knew. He does not know, and it’s slowly making him desolate.

Sometimes, he finds himself angry at the god who so graciously gave her this gift. It was much easier to go on about her life when she didn’t know a part of themself was missing.

(and do you know he spoke the truth? perhaps he was simply a liar—)

But that sounds ungrateful, and it sounds wretched. Those thoughts make her out to be someone she does not wish to be. He would like to be worthy of Foolish’s sacrifice. He would like…

He is so tired. So very tired.

He must keep moving.

It has been a week since the Banquet.

She has not slept a single day of it, yet he is not tired.

Physically so, at least. There is a buzz thrumming on his veins, a shimmering sensation over her skin. She has not slept and yet she is not exhausted. He goes without eating but is not starving. He hadn’t felt thirsty until he tasted water. She spent hours mining for andesite, armorless, and not a single mob strayed close.

(Tell them their importance to the Universe.)

It has been a week since the Banquet.

She looks down at their hands. Not a single scratch. Not even a bruise. Even though her hands were bare, even though he hasn’t stopped for hours, in days, there is not a single ache in their body. There is nothing that hurts. Not even their back, usually tired after cartography work, after building and finding more resources, tired from the weight of their guilt, does not hurt.

She finds herself in front of a mirror.

The person who stares back does not look like a monarch. The person who stares back looks flawless, unweighted, magical. Beautiful.

He has not changed out of the dress since... that night, and yet there is not a single tear on it besides the ones from the Eggpire’s trap, not a stain or a loose thread. Their crown is gone—

all their gold is, only the watch remains, she cannot stand the look for it but she could stand much less to lose it

— and so is the corset, the shoulder pads, but the red gown still flows and falls, precious in its detailing. There are no bags under their eyes, no grime in his hair. There is nothing wrong with them.

(You look lovely, the captain had said, present tense, when they found each other by the spider spawner, when she showed Eret her graveyard.

Eret builds and Puffy does too. Different families of the same typeface. Different translations of the same text.)

Her hands shake, she steps closer. She is barefoot. How has she not stepped over a rock? How is he not hurt? Why are their heels not sore?

He steps closer.

There is a fine line of gold around her throat, settled into skin.

(You look lovely.)

(Does it know we love it? That the Universe is kind?)

Totems do not heal an injury from before the mortal blow.

But with Eret, there was no mortal blow at all. They know magic, and that night they felt it sink into their body. It had nothing to heal, nowhere to go. It could not reach Foolish, so it curled around her heart.

And the Universe, even then, watched.

The gods are the Universe’s favorite children. One of them died for Eret. It will not let her get hurt. It will not let his sacrifice go to waste.

No matter how much they deserve the pain for taking Foolish away from the living.

(You are not alone.)

Eret collapses into the mirror, catches herself with one hand. Suddenly, they feel like crying again.

You idiot, she wants to tell him, wants to scream it to his face. He wants to tell Foolish off for this. They want to make sure he knows to never do it again, that his life is not a trading card, that she does not want it, that she would rather die herself than see his body dissipate into divine light again and be haunted by his spirit, by his love, by his fear.

But she can’t.

He is back. She knows he is. Sam had told her, when they discussed the Banquet as Puffy collected some dirt, the words he sacrificed himself for me had spilled from her mouth before he could stop them.

Sam had looked at them with a mixture of pity and guilt.

(Those had been his friends once, had they not? Bad and Ant and Skeppy. The Badlands, a land of chaos, a land of love. Always together. Bad and Ant had been Sam’s choice of prison guards.)

(And Ponk had been his choice of beloved.)

(And Hannah had been his chosen ally.)

Sam had said he was with Ranboo and I last night and had closed his mouth around something else he’d wanted to say.

But Eret must have looked pitiful enough, because he’d continued after a pause.

He was pretending nothing was wrong.

Eret’s heart had broken.

She cannot see Foolish, because inevitably she would bring up his sacrifice, and whatever fragile peace Foolish had built around himself, she’d destroy.

He doesn’t want to hurt him anymore.

(All you would do would be to hurt him, guilty, harmful, poisoned, you are but a wicked seed of pain.)

She cannot see Foolish.

So she ignores her communicator when it rings.

(—always late, old pal, you should keep your communicator on you at all times, i will send you signs across the sky, here’s a messenger, did you seriously just leave me waiting—

No.)

It keeps beeping as she retrieves her sickle, as she finds the mirror again.

It keeps beeping as she throws the sickle towards its surface, as the mirror shatters at her feet.

Not a single piece of glass sinks into her skin.

(All you do is destroy. You were not meant for peace.)

(You are growing restless.)

It keeps beeping. She keeps ignoring it.

Eventually, it stops.

Hours pass before she retrieves it.

Old pal.

Hello.

We should talk.

Tomorrow after sunrise.

If you can.

See you soon.

There is not a single mistake in these messages. It strikes her more than it probably should.

(You are not alone.)

Her hands are shaking again. Maybe they never stopped shaking at all.

It has been a week since the Banquet.

Foolish sacrificed himself for them.

(“How do you always keep waiting?”

“I have infinity laid before me.”)

(When he spoke of their past, he looked so sad when you did not recall, guarded and wary and hurt.

What have you done but hurt him?)

We should talk.

The words echo in their head. They can hear it in Foolish’s voice even if they have never heard him speak them.

Perhaps he should go. The time Foolish proposed is early in the morning but it’s not like Eret has been sleeping. They haven’t even changed, even though it’s been nearly two weeks and counting. They should… They should go. If Foolish wants to see them, maybe they could talk, and he did promise to figure out their memo—

(“Its okay, Eret.”

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.)

Perhaps he should go. But the time Foolish proposed is early in the morning and it’s not like Eret has been sleeping. They haven’t even changed, even though it’s been nearly two weeks and counting. They should… they should rest.

“Maybe next week,” she whispers to no one, to the Universe. “Maybe we can meet next week instead.”

If Foolish wants to see them, maybe they could reschedule.

It has been a week since the Banquet.

It can't hurt to wait a little longer.

“Just… just let me check something,” Foolish tells the creatures at his feet. “Just let me… Let me see… Just a second…”

But no matter how many times he looks at it, his communicator stays empty. There is no message, no call, there is no rushed footsteps from his portal, no apologetic grin.

“Just let me check…”

(Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts—)

“Hey… Hey… Hey, forehead, hey—

can you hear me— Hey, it’s—"

(—almost at the familiar door—)

"— it's me— Hey—

Eret?”

(I wish to tell them that they are—)

(Wake up.)

There is a cat by the steps of Eret's castle. It looks a little like a toasted marshmallow.

Eret finds it some food. He sits in the steps while the cat eats from a bowl that may have been too precious to use for a pet's food once.

"Do you have an owner, kitty?" They ask, scratching between the cat's ears. It looks too well-kept to be a simple stray, but there is no name tag around its neck. Then again, name tags are rare to find, that might not mean anything.

The cat simply blinks at her and bumps its forehead against her hand.

Maybe she should give him a name.

#foolish gamers #the eret #dsmp fanfic #eternal duo #dsmp #reincarnation au #catrina writing #foolish g

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romiithebirdie · 3 years

Text

Epilogue for the Lost - Chapter 3

"Never fear, for I am here!"

That was the cheerful catchphrase of the children's television icon, All Might. When anything bad happened, All Might would arrive and save the day. He always won with a bright beam worn proudly across his face, radiating pure joy not only in the show but for children all over the nation who tuned in to watch him.

But for Toshinori Yagi it was a part of his past that he'd rather move on from. Living in solitude as a wealthy retired actor with only a few friends and family members made it difficult for him to genuinely smile nowadays.

Something he could still not grasp to this day;

He had everything.

Money, fame, properties and adoring fans all around the world.

Yet, his heart felt so hollow. Like somebody had reached in and torn in from his chest, discarding it like the useless piece of flesh it was.

If you asked him, he'd be surprised if he even still had a heart under his paper-thin skin.

During the last few years of his starring role as the smiling superhero, he had been involved in a major car collision that damaged his internal organs beyond repair. After months of surgeries and other frequent visits to the hospital, he had retired due to his declining health.

His adoptive father-figure Sorahiko Torino always made it a habit to visit frequently, though Toshinori himself preferred to stay in isolation. Far, far away from the prying eyes of his stern and no-nonsense father and his constant lectures about bad habits and whatnot.

Though he knew it was deeply childish, Toshinori still felt a rebellious thrill from aggravating Sorahiko just as he had done in his youth.

While Torino had always been known for his grumpy attitude, he took up to eleven after the incident involving his closest friend, Nana Shimura. Like Sorahiko, she had worked as a high-ranking member of the Police Force and had taken a squad to raid the hideout of a dangerous wanted criminal.

The notorious A.F.O killer.

He had been given that name due to the fact that all of his victims had the three initials carved into parts of their bodies.

However, it hadn't gone as planned and the entire building went up in flames. The majority of the squad had escaped with minor injuries, but Nana inhaled far too much smoke during her attempts at fleeing to safety which caused her to fall unconscious. Several hours later, she had passed away in the ER department.

It was a massive shock to everybody. Nobody could have seen it coming.

The criminal's body was never found or recovered, the authorities eventually pegging it down to have burned into nothing during the inferno due to the fact nobody had come forward with grievous burns in any of the hospitals in Japan.

A fitting way to end the life of such a cruel and evil man. Scorched into a smudge on the ground, leaving nothing but joy to the civilians who had feared for their lives during his spree.

While many would call it a horrifying end, Toshinori called it justice.

Losing Nana was truly a tragedy and both Toshinori and Sorahiko suffered badly with mourning the kind woman's death. While Sorahiko took to his study and spent many days and nights alone, Toshinori's behaviour grew more challenging and he had started fighting at school and in public.

He wasn't a bad kid.

He just hadn't known how to deal with his own grief. It made him feel hollow inside, like his heart was devoid of anything.

Nana Shimura was like a secondary parental figure to Toshinori. She would watch movies with him, take him and Torino out for long drives in the city and countryside while always proudly wearing a smile on her face.

The television hero All Might's constant beam was a complete homage to Shimura in every way.

If only she had been around to see him in his hayday…

Would she still be proud of him now?

Knowing how far he'd fallen.

Turning to drinking and not taking care of his health properly… Every time he'd cough up the coppery taste of blood from the back of his throat, he truly felt as if the Grim Reaper himself was slowly approaching, waiting for his final breath before tearing his soul and taking his spirit to the afterlife.

No. What he'd thought about Nana...

That wasn't true.

Nana would have never judged him. Back then and even now.

She was kind-hearted and had so much empathy, especially for somebody who worked in the field that she did. It was something Toshinori truly admired about the woman, other than her fierce passion for her work.

Glancing at the IV cord that was attached to his arm, he let out a deep sigh before heaving himself from his own hospital bed and beginning to hobble out of his private room. A coffee from the café downstairs sounded pretty good right about now…

Whisky would have been better but beggars couldn't be choosers.

.-.-.-.-.

Izuku rushed through the hospital entrance, clutching the leather straps of his backpack as his crimson shoes squeaked along the polished floor. He'd been given the brief details of what had happened at his apartment by the police officers after his mother had been taken away in an ambulance.

The kind officers had then given the teen a ride to the hospital where they had accompanied Izuku with getting the name of the ward where his mother had been taken. After giving a quick bow of thanks, Izuku had shot across the car park and towards the building at lightning fast speed.

From the looks of the ward names, it seemed his mother was on one of the higher floors so Izuku decided to take the elevator up; only to almost crash into a tall, blond haired man holding a steaming paper cup who was also waiting for the elevator doors to open.

"I'm so sorry!" the boy yelped, ducking his head while the blond chuckled, fondly shaking his head at the teen. Izuku noted the IV drip and was stricken with more guilt, so much so that he ignored an unpleasant feeling wash over him while being in close range of the stranger.

You nearly knocked a patient over, you complete idiot.

Ding!

As sweet as mercy, the elevator doors opened and the two entered with Izuku allowing the older man to go in first out of respect. It was the least he could do after almost barrelling into him.

"Why thank you, young man," Toshinori smiled, taking a sip of his coffee while watching Izuku fidget around the elevator buttons. He chose to step in, "I'm going to the fifth floor, my boy."

"Ah, that's great, I'm going up to the ninth."

Izuku pressed the buttons and stepped back, feeling the weight of the floor lift underneath his feet. For a few awkward seconds, nobody said a word until a familiar, unwanted chill blew into the boy's face.

He knew it all too well.

They wanted to communicate with him again.

The tiny space of the elevator only did more to trigger an overwhelming feeling of utter claustrophobia, it felt like the silver reflective walls were closing in on him. Izuku suddenly wanted nothing more than to shrink into himself and cower away with his face covered.

Please go away.

Izuku's desperate emeralds met with Toshinori's dull blue, the two immediately connected as the teen bit back a choked gasp that he tried to fight. Foggy imagery immediately began taking over his senses as the familiar raven-haired lady held onto the blond's shoulders like she was embracing him.

No, no, no.

Izuku was seeing them once again, just like all the other times.

Usually he'd see them in short-timed wisps like the smoke of a dead candle flame. A few whispers in his ears and cold spots but nothing as humanoid as what he was seeing now.

He immediately reached for his bag and fumbled around for the zipper, shakily trying to fight against the fabric trapping his zip in the same position. Upon ripping it open, not caring whether or not he'd broken the lining, he began frantically raking through the contents inside.

Where was that damned medication?!

Various whispers combined into one ghostly chorus entered his ears, making them ring like a loud case of tinnitus as he stepped back, trying to compose himself.

"Tell him. Please. Tell him."

"Please," Izuku pleaded as he squirmed, hand darting out and snatching the blond stranger's striped pyjama sleeve. They wouldn't leave until he did what they asked, "She says she's proud. N-never think otherwise."

Toshinori's mind screeched to a complete halt as he whirled around completely on the teen holding onto him, "What?" he spluttered, not quite sure he'd heard what had just come out of the kid's mouth properly. Surely he'd misheard?

"She's proud," Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, as if speaking the words pained him. "Nana says she'll always be proud of you."

Toshinori turned his head around so fast, Izuku's own neck ached at the sight.

Finally, he spoke; "How do you know Nana?"

"I don't," Izuku wavered, glancing at the ghostly hands clutching the thin fabric covering Toshinori's shoulders. "But she said you knows you."

Knows? The older male frowned, unsure of what that even meant.

"Let me rephrase," Toshinori's grip on his IV tightened, a small wave of nausea threatening his weak body as he tried to steady himself. "How could you know something like that?"

The words that had come out of the kid's mouth were enough for him to pray for the doors to open;

"Because she's standing behind you and telling me what to say."

As if by magic, the elevator doors opened and allowed the blond to shuffle out of the small space at the fasted speed he could. In silence, Toshinori dragged his IV along with him while keeping his gaze fixed on the boy.

As the doors began to close, he finally chose to speak again suddenly finding his voice, though it was barely coherent;

"What's your name, kid?"

"Izuku," the greenette answered immediately, "Izuku Midoriya."

"Toshinori Yagi," the blond responded, just as the twin doors shut and cut off their sight of one another.

Toshinori set his cup down and covered his mouth, muffled exhales echoing down the empty corridor as he attempted to compose himself.

Did that really just happen?

.-.-.-.-.

"Mum!"

Previous issues with his unwelcome undead buddies immediately dropped the moment he saw her. The teen dropped everything and launched himself forward, sliding to a halt beside his eerily still mother. The heart monitor beeped slowly, duetting with Inko's raspy gasps for air from her oxygen mask.

"Izuku?" Inko croaked, her face ghostly pale as she shakily attempted to lift her head from the pillows supporting her. Izuku immediately grabbed her hand tightly, fearful of letting her go.

"What happened?" he stressed, trying to force down the hard lump in his throat. He couldn't cry in front of her. She needed him to be strong.

"A man," she whispered, gently giving his hand a squeeze, "red eyes. He knew about Mitsuki, said I deserved it."

"Deserved it?" Izuku repeated, dumbfounded. Deserved what? His mother had nothing to do with the Bakugou tragedy…

"He knocked me down a-and did this," she used her free hand to shakily imitate stabbing motions. Her eyes welled up and Izuku fought back his own tears at seeing his mother so broken. "Tried to start a fire in the lounge b-but couldn't, the neighbours heard the commotion and he ran away."

Inko heaved out roughly, each breath sounding painful as she shifted slightly, wincing every now and again while the monitor beeped beside her.

"I'm sorry, Izuku," she whispered, mother and son's eyes meeting before she began closing them slowly. "I'm so sorry."

"Mum?" Izuku released her hand and gave her a few gentle nudges. She moaned softly, streaks of tears lined down her cheeks as her chest slowly rose and fell.

She was alive. Injured but alive.

The teen pushed himself away and slowly made his way out of the ward, feeling like his head was filled with cotton wool. The second the doors to the ward shut behind him, he allowed himself to break down, sobbing quietly against one of the off-white walls of the long and empty hospital corridor.

Who could have done this?

His mother was the most gentle soul he had ever known, rarely raising her voice or getting angry. Why had somebody attacked her?

The mystery person was wrong; his mother didn't deserve what had happened to her.

Izuku thought back to what the police had explained to him, about the attacker. According to the report made, he had mentioned Mitsuki Bakugou. Which was not only confusing but odd too.

Then there was that weird guy with the unusual red eyes back in his neighbourhood, he was wearing a hoodie so his hair was completely concealed. His mother had mentioned red eyes hadn't she?

Izuku only knew one person with that rare eye colour and then there was another thought playing on his mind;

Who truly knew Mitsuki Bakugou besides the Midoriya Family?

Aside from…

"Kacchan?"

#my writing #epilogue for the lost #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #my hero academia fanfiction #bnha #izuku midoriya #all might #dfo #afo is hisashi midoriya #inko midoriya #dad for one

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scribbling-punk · 4 years

Text

Maintenance

Lena Luthor x Reader

A very kind lady commissioned me to write this and asked that I share it with you all.

Warnings: 18+ Domestic discipline.

"Lena x Reader maintenance spankings in a domestic discipline relationship. Can you make it similar to your Andrea fic Reassurance?"

You wash the same plate for the third time without even realizing it, repeatedly glancing at the clock on the wall. You gnaw on your bottom lip until the skin is raw, your nerves bubbling to the surface. Lena won't be home for another fifteen minutes, but it feels as though it's an entire lifetime to you.

Your mouth feels dry as you wipe your hands on the dish towel. There's more than enough time for you to prepare for Lena's arrival, but your gut still flips whenever the hand moves forward on the clock. You know what's expected of you, the routine is well established by now, but your anxiety still makes you question yourself.

Wednesday evenings are your least favourite, but you know you'd struggle and fall back into old habits without them. Lena will soon come home and turn you over her knee for your weekly maintenance spanking. She'll remind you what she expects from you before making you cry out a week's worth of pent up negative energy.

It's been three months since the maintenance spankings first started. Lena had suggested them after dealing with yet another one of your outbursts. You'd goaded her into spanking you one too many times, an unhealthy habit born from lack of communication.

Lena had refused to punish you until you were open about your feelings. She'd patiently listened as you explained your desire for more consistent discipline. She didn't judge you when you'd told her you needed more than just punishment. You needed reassurance, a firm reminder to keep you on the straight and narrow before you earned yourself a real punishment.

You sigh and fold the dish towel, placing it beside the sink. Your legs carry you through your Wednesday evening routine without you even thinking about what you're doing. Your jeans are removed and placed over the back of the couch, your underwear joining them a moment later.

Your palms are sweaty and you ball your hands into fists to stop them from trembling. The hairbrush is retrieved from the bathroom and placed on the arm of the couch. You stare down at it, scowling as though it's mocking you. You'll soon feel it on your bare behind.

Nerves settle low in your stomach as you make your way to your usual corner. You clasp your hands behind your back, fingers lacing together in an attempt to stop yourself from fidgeting.

The room is almost deafeningly silent, with only the ticking clock for company. You focus only on each passing second, anxiously waiting for the sound of Lena's keys in the door. She’ll be pleased to find you ready and waiting for her, but you know it won’t make her take it any easier on you. This is happening for a reason, and it won’t work if Lena isn’t consistent with you.

The minutes feel like hours. Your blood rushes in your ears, drowning out the clock. You want this. You asked for it. Hell, you begged for it, but waiting for it is torture. It always feels worse than the actual spanking… mostly.

You shift from foot to foot, growing restless. Lena likes for you to be in the corner at least ten minutes before she’s due to come home, and you’d contemplated bending that rule for just a moment. Lena would never know unless you told her, but your lifestyle requires trust. If there’s no trust, no honesty, then what’s the point?

You startle when Lena’s keys rattle in the lock, and you instantly straighten your spine and halt your fidgeting. The door is quietly closed and locked again, and you listen as Lena’s stilettos move around the apartment. Her keys are dropped in the bowl, the sound making you jump even though you knew it was coming.

Lena’s warm hand on your lower back makes you smile, as does the chaste kiss to your temple.

“I’m going to change and then we can get this over with, darling,” Lena murmurs. “I’d like to hold you as soon as possible.” She gently pats your bottom and kisses you again before making her way to your shared bedroom. The brief interaction fills you with warmth, and you pine for more of her attention. You know she’ll take care of you once it’s over.

Lena only takes a few minutes to change into comfier clothes, and she pads barefoot towards the couch. She softly calls you over and you nervously shuffle across the room. You stand in front of her, your clammy hands still clasped behind your back. Lena gazes up at you with warm eyes, her face relaxed.

“Why am I about to spank you, baby girl?” Lena questions, making sure to keep her tone gentle. You suck in a deep, nervous breath, an embarrassed blush seeping across your cheeks.

“You’re spanking me tonight as a reminder, ma’am. To maintain my behavior and ensure I’m taking care of myself and not resorting to unhealthy coping methods,” you recite. Lena smiles fondly, nodding for you to continue. “I will receive a maintenance spanking every Wednesday night unless I no longer consent, or we decide it’s no longer working.”

You’d memorized the speech on the first night, and have recited it several times since, but you still find it mortifying. Lena offers you a reassuring smile and pats her lap, indicating that it’s time. She graciously allows you the few moments that it always takes for you to submit and finally lower yourself over her firm knees.

Her sweatpants are soft against your crotch as you settle in the familiar position, and Lena rubs your bottom whilst you wiggle around to get comfortable. You fold your arms in front of you and bury your head within them, your legs stretched out behind you. She continues to rub for a few short moments, quietly urging you to relax.

The tingling warmth from the first smack is soothed away by gentle rubbing, Lena easing you into the spanking like she always does. She’s silent as she spanks you - you both know why this is happening, and she slowly warms your bottom with her experienced hand. Lena falls into a steady rhythm, methodically painting your bare skin in hues of pink.

The spanks slowly grow harder, leaving uncomfortable warmth in its wake as it steers towards sharp stinging. Lena’s knee lifts, giving her access to your meaty sit spots, right where your bottom merges with your thighs. The pain no longer disappears after each spank, instead settling as a deep ache in your cheeks.

Her hand claps against your bottom with enough force to make your bottom jiggle. Tears build in your eyes, stinging the corners as you whimper into your arms. Her hand stops, and you know what’s coming next. The cool wood of the hairbrush offers momentary relief to your hot skin, but you wince as soon as it leaves your bottom.

It returns with a loud crack and you howl, the floodgates blasting open. Tears flood from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks and soaking into the sleeves of your sweatshirt. The second burning stroke makes your chest heave, sobs wracking your body as you release everything you’ve been holding onto for a week.

There’s two more swats to each sit spot before Lena throws the brush aside like it has burnt her hand. Your bottom burns and aches, but your chest feels looser than it has in days. You cry into your arms as Lena rubs your behind, patiently waiting until you’re ready to move. You sniffle and hiccup, your features a mess of tears and snot as you crawl from Lena’s lap and into her arms.

“I’ve got you, darling girl,” Lena murmurs. She produces a tissue and gently cleans your gross face without so much as a wince. “I’m so proud of you, y/n. You’re such a good girl,” she praises. You bury your face in the crook of her warm neck, inhaling her perfect scent and clinging to her sweatshirt.

Lena rubs your back and kisses every inch of skin she can reach, murmuring gentle praise and promising to take care of you. You tuck yourself as close to her as possible as her hand slips down to your tender bottom. She rubs gently, quietly reminding you that you’re her good girl.

You feel safe in her arms, loved and protected, and you’re beyond thankful that Lena is so willing to take care of your needs. You’ll take a bath together later, like you usually do, and Lena will make you something to eat before tucking you into bed. It’s the same routine every week and it keeps you sane.

For right now, though, you’re content to stay curled up in Lena’s arms. The safest place you could possibly be.

Find Reassurance Here

#lena luthor x reader #lena luthor #reader #supergirl #lena luthor fanfiction #lena luthor imagine #supergirl cw #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl imagine #supergirl reader insert #lena x reader #bottom!reader #fem reader #top!lena #commission

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the-finch-address · 3 years

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Tag: Word Find

Tagged by @sharraus! Thank you!!

tHO isn’t at the stage where I can find half of these words in a comprehensible state since most of it is Draft 1 gibberish. So instead I’m using the opportunity to write something new for each prompt; some being canon from the book and others just standing as an excuse to write the characters interacting. Bc of this the length got a bit......Out Of Hand. Sorry about that. Putting it all under the read more so I don’t bombard anyone’s dashboard

> Prompt: Work [Note; This occurs years before the plot begins]

Vestiel ran his fingers through the grass and picked at early yellow blooms. The harsh clang of metal against wood echoed around him, the sounds of the forest easily lost behind it.

“Can we go home soon?” he whined, “I’m so hungry I could eat a bear.” His bottom lip is brought between his teeth, and he waits. Clang. Clang. Clang. “Please?”

The axe stills. Andi turns, wiping the sweat from his brow while fitting Vestiel with a look. Magpies trill in the wake of his silence, the flutter of fallen leaves following the breeze. Andi straightens his back. “Silas won’t have finished dinner yet, lad, the sun’s still well up the sky.” He answers, looking annoyed, “We’ve plenty of light to finish this up first. Fill the baskets if you’re so restless.”

He reaches for the axe again. The disappointment must have shown on Vestiel’s face, though, since the tool remains lodged, and Andi continues to look distracted. He knew the boy was too young to understand how important this work was, how it kept them warm and fed. He couldn’t blame a child for prioritizing an empty stomach over harsh and thankless labor. Still, that morning’s storm had downed too many trees to not take advantage of. It had to be done.

“Tell you what,” Andi resigns himself, a weary smile lifting his eyes, “I’ll let you do a few strokes, but Vestiel-”

The boy is already up and on his feet, dandelions forgotten in the sunken spots of grass where his legs had crossed, “You mean it?” He brightens, “I can do it all by myself?”

“Listen to me,” Andi lifts a hand, demanding attention, while the other remains on the hilt, “you’ll start with the axe wedged in and bring them down together-” he offers a stern look, “--and I don’t want to hear any complaints. This is your first time, I don’t want you lopping off a toe or, North forbid, a whole foot. You need a feel for the tool before you do anything else.”

Vestiel acknowledges this with a hasty nod, the muttered agreement of “Yeah, yeah, sure” crossing his lips, hand already reaching for the axe.

Andi comes between him with a harsher expression than before, eyebrows raised expectantly. Vestiel lets out a sigh.

“The axe will start in the wood. Got it.” The impatience hasn’t fully left his tone, but it’s an improvement, and Andi appears content by it.

The wood is already a narrowed size when the axe is driven through its flesh. The blade settles halfway down the block and wedges itself firmly along the grain with little resistance, just on the edge of splitting. He brings it to Vestiel, who takes the closer end of the block with his left hand and the hilt with his right.

“Now, you’ll want to bring it down towards the back of the splitting block,” Andi starts, “Make sure you do so with both hands together, or you’ll only-”

Clang. Vestiel opens his eyes, already knowing that Andi is going to ring his neck for having closed them in the first place. All is forgotten at the sight of the severed wood, though, and he can’t help but be excited with the results. It isn’t perfect by any means, but it’s his, and he’s no less proud of it despite his brother's hand-holding. He looks to Andi in hopes of praise.

“Mother’s grief, Vestiel, have some patience!” Is the chastised response he receives instead. “You couldn’t have at least waited for me to finish?”

Vestiel makes a sour face. “I did it fine, didn’t I?” He retorts, “Isn’t that good enough?”

Andi raises a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, a long and tired breath escaping him. After a minute of patience himself he’s able to give Vestiel the reaction he was looking for. A smile, small but proud. “It’s not bad for your first time,” he says, “but you’re going to need more practice, and patience, than that if you want to hack apart whole trees in a few years.”

He extends a hand to bring Vestiel near, pulling him snug against his side. “You did well.” Andi continues, “but, lad,” his voice lowers to a stern whisper, and

Vestiel pales, “If I ever see your eyes closed with an axe in hand again, you’ll sweep the whole corridor. Twice.”

He swallows harshly and answers only with a nod. The pride blooming in his chest doesn't falter.

> Prompt: Weather

The evening sky flashes white, casting shadows across paintings framed in gold and goblets of silver. Across the room, Caprice of the North hunches over a desk painted in candlelight. He draws a finger across the map in study of its various routes and borders, frowning. Behind him, thunder crashes down. He flinches. Pitiful.

Shaking away the thought, the young deliverer refocuses. His back arches further towards the desk until braided locks of gold spill over onto the wood. Especially now, as he squints in the darkness of his shadow, does he wish this dreaded storm had chosen another night. It brought a miserable chill to his bones despite the grizzly pelt draping heavily over his shoulders and brought an ache to his bones.

Lightning comes again, its brilliant light cutting into the room with the swiftness of a sword’s blow. Capri anticipates it this time. When thunder claps against his window he’s decisively ready for it, his knuckles gone white against clenching fists. He can’t stop their trembling no matter how tightly he’s squeezing.

A knock at the door sends him out of his skin.

Like a sharp wound, the anticipation drives him into a panic. Young flesh grasps aimlessly for a new frame to stretch into, finding nothing but mortal bones. By the time the door swings open he is straightened, remembering a human form, begging the drum within his heart to settle.

Silence greets him. A form approaches from the doorway and draws towards the light, illuminating their features quick enough that Caprice’s hand stills where it rested on the hilt of his sword.

“Dove?” He relaxes and lets himself breathe, forcing air into his lungs with more effort than is needed. “I thought you were with Eivind."

“He was needed elsewhere,” Dove signs. His hands portrayed a sense of disappointment where one couldn’t be seen in his expression, brown eyes seeming indifferent.

Caprice looks away shamefully, “You didn’t have to come,” he says.

“I wanted to.”

His gaze again lifts to meet the other with only a grunt, reluctant to answer in words for fear that his voice might betray him.

Light consumes the room with blinding force and concurrently Caprice’s hand reaches blindly for the edge of the desk to ground himself. It’s silly, he thinks, ruined pride staining his cheeks red. Internally he’s counting the seconds as they go by, steeling himself.

Dove reaches for him--

Capri recoils just as thunder cracks and booms overhead. The approach was too quick, well-meaning as it may have been. Dove understands the reaction. He reads Caprice as well as the noble reads his sign.

The thrashing of rain fills the aching silence and neither of them dares interrupt it. Seconds pass by without distraction until Dove again extends his hand forward. He moves slower than he has to under the young emperor’s weary gaze as though addressing a wounded animal.

When Caprice notices it’s not without backlash. His eyes turn hard, looking fussed. His nails dig into the wood beneath them until angry lines form on the underside of the desk and pain shoots up his fingers.

Dove’s palm settles over his hand, squeezing.

He flinches but can’t bring himself to shake the man away. The silence between them stretches on unbearably after, broken only by the rain. He releases the desk and turns his palm face up, intertwining their fingers wearily. “Thank you.” He whispers.

When the thunder comes this time, he doesn’t flinch.

Prompt: Help

Vestiel’s heartbeat thuds like thunder roaring inside his ears. He stares with too much intent at the earth beneath his worn shoes, doing his best to concentrate on the hole boring over the space near his toes.

Much to his dismay, Fannar-Haise appears to notice.

She carries herself past the snow huts and politely cuts through the crowd, stepping lightly around the fire and between celebrants, their songs alight with a different kind of flame.

Vestiel can’t hear them past his own thoughts. Get out, get out, get out. He forces some semblance of greeting out as she approaches but can’t manage to look her in the eyes. It’s hard most days, but especially now.

“Enjoying the party?” She asks, making no mention of the answer being pretty obvious. The smile on her lips is pitying, judgemental at worst, he just knows it. He can’t bear to lift his chin and see. If Andi were here he could explain himself easily but, as it was, he was going into this situation alone. Completely, utterly alone.

“Yeah,” he lies, “just tired from all the traveling.”

It’s a witless excuse and she knows it. Instead of pointing it out, though, she only offers a shake of her head. There’s a lot to say about communication and Fannar-Haise considers herself an expert on the subject. She watches him fumble about; the trouble in getting his tongue to do its job sticking out to her as sorely as the restless, rhythmic tap of his hand against his hip and the blatant avoidance of eye contact. It answered her question more than his words could, and that was okay.

“You’re overwhelmed,” she nods to herself this time, having seemingly come to a conclusion all on her own, “Let me help. You don’t have to answer with words, a nod will do just fine. Can you walk?”

Vestiel squints at the sole of his shoes, looking confused, then apprehensive, “I’m-”

Silence. No matter how hard he pries, not a single word comes loose from his tongue. The thoughts are there and plentiful, excuses and apologies, maybe something more, fastened tightly like honey coating his throat and hidden away between his ribcage, leaving him breathless and useless.

His chin tilts upward, lips parting, but he can’t manage it. Instead, he allows himself the nod she had been looking for.

“Good. That’s good. We’re going to go somewhere quiet and after that you can tell me what you want to do. Can I touch your hand?”

She patiently waits for the resulting, albeit cautious nod, and takes his hand within her own.

She guides him past the bustling scene like this. As they reach a distance where the noise has muffled he finds it in himself to speak again. It’s slow, at first, allowing his mind time to find the right words. “How did you know?”

Calmly she turns her gaze from the sky, not looking directly at him but rather just past where he stands. There isn’t a soul there when Vestiel follows her gaze over his shoulder, but he’d only half expected one. Andi had learned with time not to stare too long; something told him Haise was just as quick of a learner.

“Call it a hunch,” she hums, “I’ve experienced my fair share of things, Vestiel. This isn’t new or strange, it’s just you.” She pauses to face him, eyes still averted. He returns the favor and looks at her nose like it’s his only salvation, seconded only by the sight of his snow hut in the distance and the soft murmur becoming of the crowd ever fading behind them.

“Besides,” she continues, “these celebrations aren’t a requirement by any standard. They’re here to bring happiness. If something causes you to be unhappy you have no obligation to stay. If you need to step away, I will understand. We will always understand.”

Vestiel doesn’t know what to say when they reach the entrance. Despite her words, he can’t help but feel a wave of guilt wash over him for having both left the celebration early-- a celebration of his arrival, no less--and now, leaving their leader at the door.

She picks up on this, too.

“I’m going to head back to the others for a while longer. You can join us if you’re feeling up to it, or you can stay here and get some rest. Don’t overthink it, okay?”

Her warmth is everything to him, more grounding than a hole in his shoe could ever be. He wants her to know, wants to find the right words to explain how much her actions mean to him, but there isn’t an easy way to go about it without making a greater fool of himself. He answers with a weak smile and a simple, “Okay”, the best he can offer in way of thanks.

She matches his smile and bids him goodnight.

Prompt: Hope

The scent of leather tanning above flame clings to his nostrils. It fills him with a sense of despair unlike any other, weighing different from the miserable few weeks he’d spent mourning Andi, even. Putrid, a nauseating sort of agony like snakes writhing and tearing at his stomach. Burning. Burning. Burning.

The forest was ablaze. That was all he could possibly know, here in the dark. Shadows drove past him in a stampede of bodies carving through the night, survived only by a name and footprints worn into the poaching grounds.

He scares awake. Stars wink faintly above him, hidden behind the morning sun.

“Bad dream?”

Tupelo’s voice startles him a second time from where he lay, their trek up the hill all but forgotten until that point.

Vestiel slowly drags himself into a sitting position with a grunt of effort. Sweat collects at his jaw, cold against his cheeks. He licks his lips and tastes salt.

“A fire, just to the north of here-- tonight maybe--the forest, the people-”

Tupelo tends to the campfire, looking drained. It was suddenly apparent neither of them had slept well. “The forest?” they ask with a shake of their head, “Not to the north, yet.”

“Yet?”

Vestiel draws his shirt away and uses the

bottom corner to dry his face. Goosebumps still clinging to his arms, the memory remaining like a fresh wound.

“You don’t have to believe me,” he says, “I can’t explain it to you and if I do, you’ll just think I’ve gone strange. I’m only asking that you take me north of here.”

He reaches for the map tucked inside his rucksack, spilling a few more items in the process, “It shouldn’t be too far off from where we’re going already. I’ll show you.”

Tupelo is quick to rest their hand against his wrist with a sympathetic, albeit calm look on their face. “We’ll go.” They assure him, pointing to the north. “If it’s important.”

_________________________________

It quickly becomes evident that Tupelo is just as ill-equipped for this kind of travel as Vestiel. For as nimble as they are the hill obviously called for a different kind of strength. The original path would have taken them up and around, but this new direction was a straight shot to the north, uphill for the better half of it.

Tupelo watches Vestiel out of the corner of their eye, checking up on him every now and then as though waiting for Vestiel to change his mind, or hoping he’ll get around to it if they climb for long enough.

However, Vestiel remains steadfast in the endeavor, eyes locked on the horizon. He’s certain of what he saw, having learned to trust the dreams long ago, and he had no plans to stop now. The smell of burning flesh still lingered undeniably.

“We’re almost there.” Tupelo breaks the silence.

“Finally,” he gasps, “I don’t think my legs can go on for much longer.”

He can feel it already. The weight of the earth shifting beneath his feet, a familiar pressure that seeps into his bones, pungent smoldering inside his nostrils once more. “It’s right over here,” he drags himself the last few feet to the summit, “It’s-”

Dead. Every tree, every blade of grass, the entire opposite face of the hill lie dusty and black, an empty expanse of burnt trunks where the forest should have been.

Tupelo comes up beside him.

“What happened here?” Vestiel gasps in disbelief, “I was sure-- my dreams have never lied, not once before. Were we too late?”

“Your soul tells stories, not prophecies.” Tupelo answers, “Father told me you can hear them.”

“Them?”

“The spirits,” they gesture to the barren woods, “they speak because they know you will listen. Come.”

Vestiel follows their lead. Dry grass crunches underfoot as they descend the hill. Patches of green pop up here and there, but aren't constant and don’t compare to the full weight of the forest that should have been in its stead. It’s a sight he feels the need to grieve over as though his own soul were tied to the scorched land. The thought scares him.

Tupelo steps ahead and crouches to their knees, hands smoothing over a ring of stones that would have gone unseen had they not brought attention to it. Wordlessly, they pull the canteen from its strap and let the remainder of its water drip out.

Vestiel inches closer now. He kneels beside the other, “What is it?”

Tupelo sits back on their heels, palms opening to show a young sapling, green and healthy, standing tall, small as it may be. It rests in a forgotten graveyard.

“A tree?” Vestiel reaches for it and thumbs carefully along the juvenile bark. “What is one tree to an empty field?”

Tupelo cradles the sapling fondly. “Hope.”

_________________________________

I'm tagging @faenova @squid-scribe @zmlorenz @ashen-crest @henrike-does-writing-sometimes and @sharraus (can I tag the tagger? I'm doing it anyway)

Your words are Drenched, Gather, Cradle, and Howl

#finch writes #tHO #vestiel #andi #capri #tupelo #haise #dove #tag game

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teatitty · 3 years

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Magecraft CE’s + Descriptions (Part 2)

Finally getting part 2 of this done! Part 1 is over here

Crystallized Wisdom Chocolate

Valentine's chocolate from Brynhild. See, it's perfect for you. I used runes to freeze it, so it will never melt again. You can display it eternally, or you can eat it immediately. ...Oh, I'm sorry. If you eat it, you may get a stomach ache. (A/N: I just think it’s neat that she used runes for this)

Threefold Barrier (I actually have no idea what this description is trying to say)

Fugu, Kongou, Dakatsu, Taiten, Chougyou, Ouken. The triple-layered barrier that he's surrounded himself with, as if he's woven a web out of spidering threads covering the ground and all spaces, flat surfaces, and three-dimensional objects. This circle is an unwavering philosophy. Those lacking wisdom, be ashamed.

Vivid Dance of Fists

"AzoLto!" This is a slightly new type of modern magecraft, a style of fistfighting blended with the sounds of music.

Mystic Eyes of Distortion

Bend, bend, bend... Distort. The repeated words became a curse, twisting and destroying everything within her sight.

Repeat Magic (idk what this description is about either)

A revolution in spell-casting! These old farts are seriously stubborn. Printing technology has ruined the Mystics, communications technology has poisoned the Mystics? Copy, repeat, that's totally fine by me! Like these words being propagated by a vulgar crowd, spell-casting, too, one time should be enough!

EXP Card: Kuji Kanesada

An ancient sword with a 9-character inscription on the back. This historic weapon is a Mystic that rivals magecraft.

Volumen Hydrargyrum

In the hands of a skilled wielder, Volumen Hydrargyrum's silver stream can turn into swords, its waves into shields, and even its splashes can become deadly.

This is the supreme Mystic Code of the Archibald family, the depths of which an ordinary mage could never pierce. All you lowly creatures who called yourself mages, you will know that your toys are of no match before true arts.

Self Geass Scroll

This is a set of laws that are unbreakable by mages, a type of spell that is so powerful it even binds the soul. When the contract is signed... No one can break it, nor escape from it. ...Only for the ones who signed it, that is.

EXP Craft: Burrowing Worms

Many creatures are often chosen as familiars, but not many mages would choose insects, especially those insects that are not of this world. This insect is the informant to hell itself. As a parasite, the host will gain various abilities, but ultimately, this insect's true nature is to devour, multiply, and destroy. There's nothing that awaits the host except terrifying demise.

Key of the King’s Law (apparently a Mystic Code! Who knew!)

In the Age of Gods, where man's domain was still limited, a king gathered all the treasure across all the lands and stored them inside a vault he had built. Those were known as the origins of all treasures that followed. The evidence of all mankind's wisdom and knowledge. People started to praise it as the "Gate of the Gods." Truly, it is. Eventually, the "vault" itself became a Mystic more mysterious than the treasures it held. Also, the key to the vault can only be used by the King. The key will constantly change its shape, and the vault will constantly store new treasures. Without the wisdom to instantly understand those Mystics, the key will never be able to open the vault's gate.

Bronze-Link Manipulator

A Mystic Code designed by a certain talented mage to cover for her own physical limitations.

However, its true function is not to assist in her daily life, but to be used in battle. It is said upon unleashing its true combat capability, it could even rival the proud El-Melloi family's Volumen Hydrargyrum.

Ath nGabla

NA Translation: When the Child of Light, Cú Chulainn, became aware of his imminent death, he tied himself to a pillar and would not allow himself to fall to the ground.To Celtic soldiers, this formation is the proof of their oath to be invincible and determined, that they shall never retreat as long as they are alive.

Direct Translation: Upon realizing his imminent death, the Child of Light, Cú Chulainn, tied himself to a pillar. Not as a form of defeat, but to proudly welcome his end on his feet. To the Celtic soldiers, this formation was proof of their oath to be determined and indomitable, as fleeing was absolutely unforgivable.

Jeweled Sword Zelretch

This is a Mystic Code designed and created by Zelretch, a magician known and feared as the "Kaleidoscope." Its true form is not a sword, but a staff. Although limited, it can draw out magical energy leaked from parallel worlds...Making the Second Magic a reality and creating slashes of light from concentrated energy.

Origin Bullet (doesn’t actually talk about the Mystic Code)

NA Translation: His origin is to cut and connect. He has cut away many things in his life, and struggled to reconnect with even more. The image reflected in the broken windows... May it be the one from those beautiful days.

Direct Translation: An origin of severing and binding. Having discarded many things and stroven desperately to connect even more. Afterimages reflected in a cracked window. I beg you, leave those beautiful days as they are.

Prelati’s Spellbook

NA Translation: It's said that the book he accepted is bound in human skin. It was composed of curses towards humanity in every conceivable way. By rights, the book deserves to be burned. However, as he is now, it was the truth of the world.

"You have crushed my saint." He screamed to the heavens. "Therefore, I too shall trample the miracles you have created. I shall slaughter those pure and lovable children to my heart's content." The man's pitch black eyes were utterly stagnant...

Direct Translation: The book he received was said to have been made from human skin. In every conceivable way, it was composed of curses towards humanity. This book is something that inherently deserves to be burned. However, to the current him, it was the truth of the world. [You have trampled my Saint.] He screamed to the heavens. [Therefore, I too shall trample the miracles you have created. I shall slaughter those pure and lovable children to my heart's content.] The man's pitch black eyes were utterly stagnant―

Sharing of Pain (the full description would be too long and also this is Chloe so I refuse to write out all of it)

NA Translation: Whew, curse access point, transfer of ownership complete! Now your pain is mine! ♪ Though it's a simple spell, it's surprisingly annoying... It tickles, and makes something shiver in the depths of my body.

Direct Translation: Whew, curse access point, transfer of ownership complete! With this your pain is now mine♪ Though it's a simple ritual, to be so surprisingly flustered... It tickles, and makes me a bit excited inside.

#fate series #lore post #hate to end this on Chloe but I'm tired tonight #so this is where part 2 ends!#keep an eye out for part 3 in future!

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abundanceofsoph · 3 years

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SkyFire 3: Chapter 11

The Holidays in NYC: Dec 2017

Word count: 3.3k

SkyFire 3 MASTERLIST

Aurora had always loved Christmas growing up. The chill in the air, the lights and decorations strewn around town and the towering pine tree in the corner of the bar. There were never many presents under it; usually a small something her mother could pull together and art supplies from Helen and Greg, but Christmas was never about the presents in their home. Instead, the festive season meant going ice skating with Ella after school, Christmas Eve waffles with her mum, carols to be performed at the piano, and Helen teaching her to make gingerbread biscuits and plum pudding. Even after Louise‘s death tarnished Christmas Eve and left a heavy cloud hanging over Christmas Day, the month of December still brought so much joy to Aurora's life and she made a choice once she moved to New York to focus on only the happy memories she had from childhood, knowing that if she didn’t then this time of year would slowly crush her under the weight of her grief. The atmosphere completely changed in Manhattan with the Christmas spirit and she loved every little aspect of the season. In the city, Christmas was now filled with new traditions like picking out a tree with her fathers and stringing lights with Nat and Bruce. It was introducing Steve and Bucky to cringey festive movies and ice skating in central park with Harry. It wasn’t the same as it had been growing up in London, there were far more presents under the tree now and the family around the table much bigger and louder, but despite these changes or perhaps because of them Christmas remained Aurora’s favourite time of year.

Now, however, there was pained edge to all the festive joy. She still loved ice skating in Central Park and strolling through the Christmas markets, but the cold seeped into her bones, chilling her in a way it never had before Columbia; the ache in her left arm and shoulder a constant reminder of the bullets that had ripped her apart 3 years ago. She was good at hiding her discomfort most of the time, holding back grimaces and fighting back the urge to rub at her residual limb as it throbbed. The full impact of winter had made itself known when she had returned to New York with Harry after the bands final performance before going on hiatus and while most of the people around her were unaware of her struggle, Harry caught on quite quickly. She hadn’t really been that surprised when he realised she was struggling a few days after returning from the band’s final performance on X Factor. They had just returned back to the tower from a walk in Central Park and while Steve was putting the final touches on dinner, Aurora had quietly excused herself from the room. Harry had quickly joined her, finding her curled in on herself in the hallway rubbing at the ache in her shoulder. Ever since that year Harry had always made a conscious effort to help her through the winter months, always on hand with heat pads, a massage, a steaming hot bath or even a surprise getaway to a warmer location. Rori tried not to let her body’s protests impede her activities however she now paid more attention to the forecast so as not to be heading outside on the worst days and she always rugged up with thicker jackets than most people would deem necessary.

This year was no different with the aches setting in while they were exploring Tokyo and only worsening as they settled back into life in the tower. Steve and Tony had already picked out the tree for the penthouse before their arrival but the last of the ornaments had been left for Aurora to place, the carefully wrapped hand painted baubles from her childhood added in amongst the Avengers themed ornaments that Clint had gifted the family ironically a few years earlier. As he did every year, Harry voiced his argument against Die Hard being a Christmas movie, but despite his grumbling he allowed his wife to pull him onto the sofa and curled up against her as Bruce Willis saved the day. With the time off from tour, Rori took the opportunity to throw herself back into her painting and spent hours at a time working in comfortable silence with Steve in their studio. A few days before Christmas, Anne and Gemma flew into town and Anne happily joined Steve in the kitchen to prep for the gigantic Christmas dinner required to feed the large group that would be in attendance. The pair shooed any offers of assistance, knowing that it would be more of a hindrance than a help, leaving Harry and Rori plenty of time to spend with Gemma. The three of them binged crappy Netflix Christmas movies and caught each other up on everything from tour and Gemma’s own adventures over the past few months, happy to just be spending time together.

xXx

Christmas Eve started quietly on the penthouse floor of Avengers Tower. Ever since their formation, the Avengers followed the unwritten rule to steer clear, either remaining on their own residential floors or leaving the tower altogether. Tony had remained up in the lab till the early hours of the morning, so he was sleeping away most of the day while Steve and Anne were baking for the following day in the kitchen and Gemma had made plans to catch up with friends, leaving early after a quick breakfast.

Sometime around mid-morning, Harry had appeared in the kitchen, kissing his mother on the cheek as he silently passed by her to make two mugs of coffee. He also poured some cereal and heated up a pop tart before placing it all on a tray and carrying it back to the bedroom where Rori was buried under the duvet. Anne and Steve remained silent as they watched him trudge back down the hallway, his hair sleep mussed and sticking in every direction. Steve placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as Anne frowned at her sons dejected demeanour and slumped shoulders. Her normally loud and goofy boy wore his heart on his sleeve, and she ached to see him shouldering his wife grief without complaint. She was proud of him for it, but it didn’t make it any less painful to watch.

Of course, what Anne failed to realise was that it was not only Rori’s grief burdening his shoulder and pinching his brows together. It was weighing heavily on him that this would be their first Christmas without Robin and he was fighting against the urge to wallow in that sense of loss. Looking after Rori on the anniversary of losing her mother, her home and her childhood was a much needed distraction and he welcomed the diversion. It was always easier for him to be the shoulder to lean on than to be the one in need of leaning, a trait he shared with his wife which was understandably not always great for communication or dealing with heavy emotions but they managed the best they could.

After a slow morning spent in bed, they made their way downstairs to the arts studio so that Rori could throw herself into another painting. She was in no mood to talk, so Harry simple set himself up on the sofa with his latest book, content to merely be a comforting presence so that Aurora knew she wasn’t alone. As darkness fell outside and dinner time approached JARVIS softly let them know that Tony was ordering in Chinese and asking for their orders.

Once JARVIS announced that the food had arrived, they made their way back upstairs to where Tony and Steve had queued up a Christmas movie and Gemma and Anne were already waiting on the sofa with them, both nursing glasses of red wine. Rori happily wedged herself between Tony and Harry after piling dumplings, noodles, and spring rolls on her plate and settled in as the movie began.

The Chinese food was long since polished off and they were debating which movie to watch next when Steve disappeared to the kitchen. He returned a little while later once they had settled on the next film with plates of waffles for everyone and all the toppings weighing down the tray it was all balanced on. Aurora bit back tears at the simple gesture. Looking around at the family surrounding her caused the heavy weight of grief in her chest to flare. Carrying on this little part of her life with Louise made her miss her mother more than words could express, but it also kept her closer and in some small way included her in the new family that Rori had surrounded herself with, both with her dads and with Harry’s mum and sister. She knew that her mum would have loved everyone in this room and Rori was certain that it would always feel unfair to her that it required losing her mum in order to find those surrounding her now.

xXx

Without speaking about it, Harry and Aurora instinctively swapped rolls once they woke Christmas morning. Where Harry had taken it upon himself to support Aurora through her own grief the previous day, now it was Rori’s turn to help her husband, as well as Anne and Gemma as they navigated their way through their first Christmas without Robin.

Harry was already awake when Rori fluttered her eyes open to the soft morning light filtering in through her window. She rolled over to find him staring at the ceiling and without saying a word she wrapped herself around him, pulling him tightly against her and placed a kiss on his bare shoulder. They remained silent for long minutes before Harry finally broke out of his haunting daze. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, turning in his wife’s arms to kiss her gently.

“Merry Christmas,” she replied softly, returning the kiss. “Do you want to talk about it or is it better to not acknowledge it?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice deep and laced with pain. “I feel like if I even say his name, I’ll burst into tears but then not talking about it feels like I’m trying to forget about him.”

“I know it’s hard baby,” Rori replied, “but whatever you decide is ok. If it hurts too much to talk about it, then that is ok. Doesn’t mean you don’t still love him or that he doesn’t matter. You have to do what’s best for you. Nothing to apologize for or feel any guilt about.”

“I love you,” Harry said, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you too, H,” she replied, carding her fingers through his hair.

They remained in bed for a while after that, wrapped up in each other before finally getting up and getting dressed to head down the hall to where the rest of the family were gathered in the living room. Harry fell onto the sofa next to his mother, curling up into her side while Gemma sat on her other side. Anne happily threw her arms around both of her children and Rori took up a spot on the floor at Steve’s feet, leaning back against his calves.

“I made breakfast for everyone,” Steve offered once they were both settled. “You want me to make either of you something?”

“I’m good thanks Pops,” Rori answered. “I’ll just wait for lunch. H?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled.

“Coffee?” Tony yelled from the kitchen.

“Coffee please,” Rori yelled back, shooting a brief worried glance at Harry when he once again declined the offer. He seemed to be trying to melt into both the sofa beneath him and his mother beside him. Anne met her gaze across the room and offered a small supportive smile as she squeezed Harry’s shoulders a little tighter in her hug. In that small silent exchange between the two of them, the conversation was clear, they would do anything to help the man they both loved through his pain and it left Aurora in awe of Anne’s strength in that moment, only being able to imagine how much of her own grief she was pushing aside to be present for her son.

They remained in the living room for the remainder of the morning as the other members of the Avengers slowly made their way up from their own floors until the room was bursting with Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Thor, Sam, Bucky, Peter, May, Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey. Steve and Anne had outdone themselves and lunch was incredible. Everyone was bursting at the seams by the time they tapped out, leaving plenty of leftovers to feed them all for the next week and they finished the afternoon with eggnog and cheesy Christmas rom coms as the sun set outside and the TV and the lights on the Christmas tree provided a soft glow to the room.

xXx

2 days after Christmas Rori borrowed one of her father’s cars and crossed the East River to drive out to the North Shore on Long Island. She arrived at Oheka Castle a little after 9 and after parking, she was almost immediately pulled into a hug from Liam who had arrived a few minutes before her, having come straight from the airport.

“It is so good to see you, darling.”

“Good to see you too, Li,” Rori replied warmly. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Liam replied, taking her hand, and leading her inside and out of the cold. “How’s H?” he asked as the climbed the front steps.

“He’s good. Enjoying spending some time with Gem and Anne while they’re visiting but he said he’s looking forward to dinner tonight. How are Bear and Cheryl?”

“They’re great. You should see Bear lately. He’s pulling himself up to stand and I’m sure he’ll be walking within the next few weeks.”

“Can’t wait to give him a big cuddle when we’re back in London in a few weeks.”

They continued to catch up throughout the day while they roamed the property and decided on locations for different scenes for the music video they would be filming over the course of the next few days. Aurora also had a final fitting for her dresses and then the day was over, and Liam joined Aurora in the car for the drive back into the city.

Harry met them in Williamsburg where they had dinner at a food truck that Rori had read about and then wandered around until they found a dive bar with an open mic and grabbed a booth in the back corner where the lights were low and they were less likely to be recognized. It was a such a fun night, with all three of them having missed hanging out together and just getting to pretend that they were normal friends in their early 20s just out for drinks after work. By the end of the night, Aurora’s cheeks ached from laughing too hard and she wrapped an arm around each of the boys as they stumbled out of the bar and down the street, winding their way back to where she had parked, giggling hysterically in the way that only drunk people did. Having always been the sober member of the group, Rori had discovered years ago that nights out were far more fun when you let the drunks sweep you up in their high and because of that she knew that to anyone watching the three of them right now, no one would believe that she wasn’t just as drunk as the two men hanging off her shoulders. They finally managed to make it back to the car and Rori drove them back over the Williamsburg Bridge and through lower Manhattan until they reached the tower and called it a night.

xXx

The first day of filming began in hair and makeup with Rori having her hair curled, while a red lipstick and a dark smoky eye was applied by a lovely girl called Jessica. Once her look was finished, she slipped into a red backless tulle gown, over which she wore a heavy black winter coat as she made her way out into the gardens for her first scene. The crew were already set up and ready to go by the time she arrived and after chatting with the director, Hannah, for a few minutes, Rori slipped out of her jacket and approached the top of the short set of steps that she would be filmed descending while she sang.

“Ready?” Hannah called and when Rori nodded in reply, the studio recording of For You started playing and Aurora stepped forward, staring down the barrel of the camera while she lip-synced along to herself.

“Cut!” the director called.

“Holy fucking shit Hannah,” Rori yelled. “It’s cold as balls.”

“I’m sorry Aurora,” Hannah replied. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but I promise you it’ll be worth it. You look fantastic.”

“Let’s just keep moving before I freeze to death, yeah?”

“You heard the lady,” Hannah smiled. “Let’s get set for the next shot.

Rori spent the remainder of the day running around the estates beautiful rose garden, cursing Liam and his warm, comfortable room inside where he was filming. The following day she was still outside in the garden, now suspended in a harness as she floated in the air, trying to pretend that she wasn’t shivering to death. Aurora was very excited when they reached day 3 as she finally joined Liam to film inside after enduring the frigid New York winter air in the sheer gown that did very little to protect her from the elements. She was in a different dress now and the new challenge was no longer pretending not to shiver, but instead acting romantic with Liam. Many takes were ruined when one of them broke into giggles but eventually Hannah called a wrap on the video and after changing out of their costumes, they drove back into the city to spend a final evening together as Liam was flying home the following day to spend New Years Eve with his family. They parted with wishes of Happy New Years and plans to see each other at the end of January when they would perform the song on the Tonight Show to promote the Fifty Shades movie it was attached to.

xXx

As he did every year, Tony once again hosted a massive New Year’s Eve party, filling the penthouse floor of the tower with the who’s who of New York City. Having learned from their mistakes on the first New Years following Columbia, Harry and Aurora were now well practiced in how to handle the night while navigating around her PTSD. This year was no different and they joined in the party upstairs, catching up with familiar faces and dancing the night away. With half an hour to go until the ball dropped, they made their way to the elevator riding the car down to the sound proofed recording studio that would be their refuge for the remainder of the night. Earlier in the day, Harry had set up a nest of pillows and blankets, as well as setting out snacks and drinks. they settled in to watch a movie and see in the new year while avoiding the fireworks. They fell asleep cuddled together on the floor of the studio and Steve woke them the following morning, having made pancakes and waffles to welcome in 2018. Unlike most of the towers residences there wasn’t a single hangover amongst Tony, Steve, Harry and Rori, allowing for the four of them to get an early start on the day.

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

#skyfire fic #Husband Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #dad!tony #ptsd #domestic fluff #iron dad #step dad steve rogers #aurora stark #harry styles #tony stark

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 3 years

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A Pie for Help || Chloe and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Kaden’s Apartment PARTIES: @chloeinbetween and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Chloe visits Kaden for a baking lesson. CONTENT WARNINGS: emotional abuse references, domestic abuse, terminal illness mention

More and more it felt like Kaden’s kitchen was the most used space in his apartment. And at this point, mabe the most visited, too. And if Abel’s barking was any indication, the kitchen was about to get another new visitor. One he didn’t know quite so well as some of the others. Kaden shushed the dog as he made it to the handle, attempting to quiet him down before letting anyone in. “Hey,” he said, swinging the door open and holding back Abel behind his legs. Looking at Chloe, something struck him. Putain. “Uh, hope you’re not afraid of dogs. I can crate him if you are. I’m sorry I didn’t check.” He really should have mentioned. Fuck. He wasn’t a stranger to causing awkward situations, but he’d really hoped he could avoid one right off the bat.

Chloe checked Kaden’s message three times before building up the courage to walk up to his door. Holding her iron necklace pendant tightly in one hand, Chloe raised her other to knock. She jumped high as a cat when out of nowhere, a dog barked. It was that slightly wide-eyed, hair-on-end look that Kaden was greeted with when he opened the door. “Hi,” Chloe squeaked. The tension trickled out of her like a faulty faucet as she looked at the big fluffy black dog behind Kaden’s legs. “Um, no?” She replied uncertainly. “As long as he doesn’t have wings.” She smiled wryly. “Who, um, what’s his name?”

One look at her wide eyes and Kaden was prepared to bring Abel straight to his crate. He’d seen that look of fear many times before in his job. As much as he loved dogs and animals and had a hard time being afraid of them, he understood for the most part. The teeth and claws, the unpredictability if you were unfamiliar with animals, there was reason for fear. Chloe had a lot of reasons for fear. He was hoping he could avoid those today. Keep today normal and easy. “Oh, okay good. You looked-- I never want to just assume since he can look a little, uh, you know, he’s bigger which some people--” Kaden really needed to stop talking. Thank god she cracked a joke. “No wings, as you can see,” he said with a half smile. “This is Abel. He’s very friendly. Big fan of treats.” He led her in and shut the door before quickly grabbing a small treat from a bag on the counter. “Here, make a new friend,” he said, handing the treat to her to give the dog.

“Oh! Um, yeah, sure,” Chloe said. The bones of Chloe’s knees clicked as she knelt down. It occurred to her a little too late that maybe this was a bad idea: getting up again might be a bit of a pain. Extending her hand with the treat on her palm, she let Abel snuffle her. Abel was surprisingly gently in plucking the treat off her hand before gulping down the biscuit. He licked the crumbs from Chloe’s hand. Smiling, she gently scratched under his chin, bringing her hand round to his ear. Abel enthusiastically leant into the scritches, his tailing thwipping across the floor. Chloe had no idea how big the grin on her face was until she suddenly remembered that Kaden was there, and that she couldn’t just spend all her time stroking Abel’s back. Even if Abel himself seemed to disagree with that theory. She slowly struggled back to her feet, clutching the counter as standing up made her a little dizzy. “He’s really cute. Bigger than most dogs. Um. So much fluff.”

Kaden leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, watching as Chloe crouched on the floor to be with the dog. He couldn’t keep the stupid smile off his face. He knew Abel was a good boy who loved meeting new people, but it was always nice to watch when others lit up around an animal. There was nothing like it. Hell, it was the part of his job that always brought him joy. A lot of it was difficult and turbulent, but helping pets reunite with owners or find a new forever home was worth all of it. “He likes you,” he said, still beaming. She wobbled and he reached out to help steady her, arm out in case she needed to lean on him. “You good?” he asked. “But yeah, I got him to be a hunting dog. He’s rotten at it, really. Runs away at the first sign of trouble but he’s still a great dog.” That wasn’t entirely true, though. Abel didn’t run when Kaden was truly in trouble. He saved him. A few times now. A pit dropped in his stomach at the memory. Deep breath. Pushed it away. “Kitchen’s this way,” he said and waved her over. “Uh, so I got all the ingredients out. And I have a few filling options we can do. I wasn’t sure what you liked. And I figured you should call the shots here.”

“It's a good thing I don't have to be good at conversation with dogs,” Chloe said with a nervous chuckle. His smile made hers all the wider, although her cheeks blushed red, embarrassed that this had been the ice breaker and that her communication had been so weak until now. She paused, waiting for the dizziness to fade to a manageable level before answering his question. “Yeah, I'm good,” her smile wavered. Chloe wasn't going to focus on the ache in her head or the wool behind her eyes now. Now was about chasing a simple kind of happiness. Making for the sake of making, rather than the sake of being good. “I think that makes him a smart dog,” Chloe said, ruffling Abel’s furs once more before following Kaden through to the kitchen. “Honestly, I'm open to experimenting. Apart from the pie you made me, it's been so long since I've had pie I kind of don't want to hold myself to any ... pie standards? Is that a thing? Apple, cherry, pumpkin, pecan, anything like that would be great. My taste buds have changed in the last few years, so ... happy to try more things.”

“Part of what makes animals great, if you ask me,” Kaden replied. They were much easier than people most days. Certainly easier than the supernatural anything. His brow pulled together for a second as he saw her blush. He couldn’t figure out what she was embarrassed about. Fuck, was he doing something to make her uncomfortable already? He tried to continue to offer her a hopeful smile, even as she seemed to pass on taking his hand for help. “Yeah, yeah. Smarter than his owner, surely.” Kaden swung the fridge door open and started pulling out the butter. “So I figure I’d show you how to start a puff pastry but it takes forever so I have some dough ready to go, too. You know, for the actual pie. Unless you know, you want to take the two hours minimum to prepare it. Which, uh, you can. There’s no rush but it’s a long time, you know and…” Kaden placed the butter on the reached back and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, anyway, I was thinking maybe we could make a tarte tatin. It’s apple. If you want. Less chance for decorating the top of the pie with the crust since it’s made upside down, but you can cut the fruit pretty. Up to you.”

“I don’t know, his owner strikes me as a pretty decent human- person,” Chloe replied quietly, dropping into one of the kitchen chairs to take the weight off her legs. Building up strength muscle by muscle where it was possible, but also making sure she was getting enough rest. Her physio would be proud, Chloe supposed drily as she watched Kaden pull the butter out of the fridge. “Oh, wow, this is really like daytime tv, huh? Here’s one we prepared earlier,” Chloe imitated the voice of some bubbly daytime presenter, holding up her hands as if she was offering Kaden a tray. Her smile did become more genuine as he told her the plan, looking over the counter. “Sounds good,” she replied, not realising how automatic and robotic her voice sounded. She was too used to telling people yes. “Cutting the fruit pretty sounds like a plan. Anything you think would work, as long as I can take the occasional rest break.”

“His owner tries, I guess,” Kaden said with a shrug. He wasn’t going to let his heart sink or his head dive straight into doubt as it was prone to lately. Today was certainly not about him or his bullshit. And if he could be a decent person for Chloe, maybe that was worth being. Let her keep the illusion, at least. Still he had to flash a smile at her jokes. “Right, yeah. Just call me…” Kaden couldn’t name a single daytime television chef. “Uhh, is Paula Deen one of those? Ari told me about her. I, uh, realized I have no idea.” The physical toll the whole ordeal took on her simply hadn’t occurred to him. He wasn’t sure why. Actually no, he could figure. There was just so much to unpack that sometimes things got left in the box up until they were right in front of you. “You know I can grab you a barstool if you want and you can work that way. No shame. This isn’t retail or something where you have to stand for eight hours.” Or anything worse. He flashed her a smile as he prepped the counter with flour. “Apple tarte tatin it is, then,” he said as he pulled out the apples and started lining them up to wash and peel them. It was then it struck him that he was calling every shot. Fucking hell, that didn’t sit well. He turned and leaned against the counter, arms crossed in front of him as he faced her. “Wait. No. I’m making you make a decision. This is your pie. What do you want? Pie crust on top or no top? Let’s start there.”

“Ha, yes, Paula Deen, but even you don’t have quite the hair to match her,” Chloe chuckled. She looked up at his offer, hesitating for a second, shrinking into her chest before nodding quietly. “Yeah, a barstool is probably easier, actually,” she admitted quietly. “I won’t need it the whole time or anything.” Chloe smiled gratefully. Then promptly froze like a deer in headlight at his question, casually posed as he turned to her.

“Um….” Chloe stared at him, trying to remember what he’d just said about tarte tatin. Was it that there wasn’t a pie crust at all? Was it that because it was made upside down there wasn’t as much to do with a top pie crust? The question, like it or not, felt like a test, and all of Kaden’s goodwill might vanish in a second. On the other hand, if she didn’t answer at all, she might end up delaying the whole process. Maybe Kaden wanted her in and out as soon as possible, which was why he’d premade the pie crust anyway. Maybe he was hoping she would choose the least work. Maybe it would insult Kaden if she didn’t make a decision. She didn’t know anything about French culture, maybe he would be offended if she didn’t already know what the right answer was, or if she didn’t have an answer at all. Chloe looked down at Abel, who was casually sprawled on the floor, watching the both of them curiously and hoping one of them might drop a treat by accident. Abel, it seemed, did not have the answer either. Several seconds had passed since Kaden had asked the question. “Um. Pie crust on top? Yeah. Let’s… let’s go with that.”

“Right, note-- Wait. Did you just insult my hair?” Kaden said, turning to her. “That’s not very nice,” he started, holding back some laughter as he feigned hurt. “You might give me a complex or something.” He really hoped she caught on to the joke. Things didn't need to be more awkward, that was for sure. Still he went around to the other side of the kitchen and pulled in a barstool for her, placing it next to the counter.

For a second, Kaden wondered if he made a mistake. Was this too much pressure? Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed it. He breathed a sigh of relief as soon as she made one whole choice. It didn’t even matter what she picked, he was just happy she chose something and a smile broke out on his face. “Crust on top it is. We can attempt to make it pretty if we want but I make no guarantees on it turning out that way.” He gave her a small shrug and added, “still, might be fun to try.” He started placing butter and flour next to what he had set up as her station. “Fruit is all up to you, too. Or nuts if you want. I have just about everything.” Partially because he practically had a pie making assembly line at this point but mostly because he wanted to make this as nice as possible. Not that he wanted to let onto that. No need to overwhelm her with how ridiculously prepared he was. “Unless you don’t want to decide. We can stick with apple, of course. This is your lesson so whatever you want.”

“No, I would never,” Chloe laughed, pulling up a picture of Paula Deen to show him her silver fox luscious locks, sure he would agree that while he had great hair, he did not have Paula Deen hair. She smiled gratefully, the words of gratitude catching in her throat once more as she shifted into the barstool, leaning her elbows onto the counter.

As soon as she answered, she was watching for his reaction. Reading into the smile, the soft sigh of relief, like it might be revealed as a grimace of frustration if she just noticed the right twitch of a muscle, some clue to reveal his real opinion. But the smile looked genuine enough, so she relaxed a little as he started handing her ingredients. “Let’s… let’s not push this too far,” she said quietly as he started to ask her another question, the feeling of having to make yet another decision terrifying. “Apple sounds like a safe bet, and it would be… it would be cool to do a little bit of a cool pattern with the apples. Do you… do you make a lot of pies? You have so much… stuff available.”

Kaden glanced down at her phone with some skepticism. “Alright fine, point made. I don’t spend that much time on my hair, you’re right,” he said with a small scoff. Not that he’d admit to just about anyone how much time he actually did spend on it. Or how much money. “Fair enough. Let’s stick with the apple in that case. I agree, it’s pretty hard to go wrong with them,” he said, offering her another smile as he set up to get the apples ready to go. “Fruit’s already sweet, you know. So you don’t have to worry too much about really screwing it up. Sort of can let good fruit do the work for you. I mean not that there’s no work, uh, but you know what I mean.” Putain. He realized he was probably talking too much about nothing for no reason. She’d agreed with him and here he was rambling about fruit. He let out a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck again. “Oh, uh, yeah I end up making a lot more than I ever thought I would, that’s for sure. But baking is good for stress relief, passing the time, all that. So I make a lot of pies in this town.” His smile wasn’t as full this time, try though he might to make it otherwise. “Anyway, we won’t have any pie if we don’t cut fruit or make some dough. So what do you say?”

“Right. The fruit’s sweet. Don’t need to put too much extra special effort in, got it.” Chloe matched his awkward smile with another, even more awkward one of hers. It didn’t seem possible, really. This didn’t feel like reality, more like a feverish dream that was maybe what her dying body was clinging to in its deathbed. Making pies with the man who Lydia had hated more than anything else, it was just the kind of thing that a dying brain might invent. Although Chloe hoped that if this was the imaginations of a brain trying to escape the horrors of its demise, it might make her less awkward. “Maybe let’s… start with the dough. Is that sensible? Or the apples will brown before we get everything assembled… although I guess you have lemon juice, which would solve the problem of browning entirely, which you probably thought about before I did, so….” Chloe swallowed down her nervous flurry, rubbing the back of her head. “I’m trying really, really hard not to be like this, you know,” she admitted quietly.

Kaden wanted his smile to reach his eyes, really did. But he knew Chloe hadn’t been in control of damn near anything for years now. The last thing he wanted to do was to shout out orders or take away any more of her choice. At the same time, there was no denying that she was struggling to make any decisions. He supposed that made sense but it was still hard to reconcile. “It’s a pie, not a rocket. There is some room for error here. Breathe.” He handed her a bowl and slid the flour and butter towards her. “You made a good point, though. Let’s start with the dough. Plus, it’s pretty fun to use the pastry blender.” He leaned into the counter with his side and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You can be however you need to be though. Really. I’m, uh, the whole…” He sighed and dropped his hands back to his side before pushing his hair back out of his face. “Look I clearly don’t know how the hell to act normal either. Don’t worry about it.”

Chloe nodded, taking a deep breath. A pie, not rocket science. A hunter, not a fae, and this was for fun, not out of the expectation of perfection. That last thought hit her the hardest. Chloe looked up at Kaden and made herself meet his eyes. “I appreciate that. I really do.”

“I remember how charismatic I used to be and how easy I used to find social interactions and… it’s really hard to not make those comparisons. Everyone says these things take time,” which was the one thing Chloe didn’t have, “but I guess I’m a bit too perfectionistic now. Anyway.” She started to combine the flour and butter carefully with her finger tips, following Kaden’s instructions. It was laughable that Kaden could be considered as awkward, not when he was so many good things. Chloe just straight up didn’t believe him.

Kaden listened and gave her a small nod before working on his own dough. He barely had to think about what he was doing at this point, it was second nature by now. Still he should slow down, he was trying to teach her, right? Putain. “I know it’s not the same, but I used to be pretty different, too. Before moving here and--- Just before,” he said, keeping his eyes pinned to the counter, focus on the ingredients combining to make the dough. Something out of nothing. It wasn’t magic like what a spellcaster could do, it was far from supernatural, thankfully, but it had its own magic. “I try not to compare. It’s pointless. And just, I don’t know. It feels bad. So I don’t.” Kaden gave a small shrug before leaning a little more into the dough, maybe more aggressively than he needed to. Pausing, he looked over at what she had started on. “So far so good. Make sure the butter isn’t clumped,” he said, small smile and pointing out the one spot. “No one was ever perfect on a first try. If ever. And you’re still pretty charismatic. Definitely endearing. At the very least.” This time the smile he flashed was wider, warmer. The fact she was still able to hold up and joke after everything she went through? Definitely endearing.

“That’s hard to imagine. I figured you would have been doing the hunting thing for a while with the whole being an expert thing,” Chloe replied quietly, slowly working the dough over in her hands, trying not to overheat the butter between her fingers. She watched Kaden, trying to copy how he did it, as much as anyone could. “I’ve spent the last four years having to be the most perfect at something I’m capable of being,” Chloe admitted below her breath, “I know it was all her, but it’s just… part of me now. Still trying to be better at things. A better version of me.” Previously, more acceptable to let live. Now just more likeable. Definitely different stakes, but the mindset was still the same. She nodded, fixing the issue he’d pointed out and looking around the rest of the dough for more clumped butter. “Oh, trust me I know. And… glad you think I’m endearing, I guess? I think that’s not the word most people would use.”

“Yeah,” Kaden answered, voice small, “I have.” That was the problem. That’s all he’d done. And he wasn’t sure-- He paused. Inhaled deeply. He was baking. The kitchen was off limits for bullshit thoughts about his bullshit life. He’d decided that at some point in this stretch while Regan had been in her cabin. Morgan very rarely let that rule stand while they were baking, but he had control right now. No bullshit thoughts right now. Just baking. “Just trust me. I never would have done shit like this a year ago. I can’t remember the last time I lived in one place this long, to be honest with you.” He listened carefully as he folded the dough over, setting it aside once it was ready and watching her progress. “Guess that makes sense.” It’s not like he was great at being bad at things, either. “Yeah, well. I said what I said. Looks good, by the way. Now you just have to fold it. Roll it. Then turn it. And then there’s apples.”

“Oh.” Chloe replied softly, unsure if she could, or should reply. Was moving a hunter thing? Chloe distantly remembered Lydia’s sister, the one who had been killed so unjustly by those monstrous beings known as hunters. It had been reported as a murder. She supposed you would have to run, in a situation like that. What a thankless life indeed. And he’d joked before about her being braver, when Chloe was content to curl into the remnants of her life, doing nothing brave than posting about fae on main every once in a while. “Roll it. Fold it. Turn it. Wait,” Chloe smacked her wrist against her forehead, repeating the instructions in the right order this time. “Like this?” Chloe asked eventually, her hands beginning to throb from the work. “Does... this town scare you?”

It took Kaden a second to realize she’d even said it in the wrong order. “Wait, first-- yeah, you got it,” he said with a nod of approval as she manipulated the dough. He gathered both sets of dough and put them on a tray and into the fridge to chill. His fingers had wrapped around the handle when her question stopped dead in his tracks. It was something he’d never really considered. A looming question he never actually asked or answered to himself. Blinking, his mouth opened and closed a few times over, no words spilled out. He placed the tray in the fridge and closed the door before turning back to her. “I don’t know,” he managed to say. “It-- Maybe. It’s, uh… It’s definitely the most complicated place I’ve ever lived.” He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping he could find the answer. “You?” he hazarded to ask. Stupid question most likely.

“So… apples.” There couldn’t be any difficult decisions there, could there? It was just slicing and arranging and nothing else. Not that it mattered either way. As Kaden made clear, it wasn’t a big deal. “The most complicated place? What does that mean?” At his question, Chloe nodded, with a weak, wry smile. Of course he knew. “So afraid. All of her friends still live here. But…. I think I’m scared of out there even more.” Chloe gestured out towards the front door, frankly with no awareness of which was to point to other towns. She might have just pointed in the direction of the ocean for all she knew.

“Apples,” he repeated, grabbing the bag and setting up in the kitchen by the sink to wash them. “Uh, I mean, just that I’ve had more questions about my fucking life choices here than I have anywhere else. Maybe that’s not fair to blame on the town, though. Maybe I’m just old,” Kaden said and tossed the washed apple to her. He kept washing as she talked. She wasn’t fucking wrong. He wrung his hands in between placing one apple to the side and grabbing the next. “Makes sense.” He didn’t even know what to say to that. Morgan frequented that very kitchen. And she hadn’t been able to let Lydia go completely, even after. And as much as Regan detested Lydia, she was still fae. Hell, there was a pixie hidden in his apartment. He was surrounded by fucking fae and fae apologists and he was wondering if he was one at this point. When he had no goddamn reason to be looking at her and the effects a fae had on her. “Well, you have friends here now, too,” he said plainly, going back to washing the apples. “And she’s fucking dead.” No thanks to him. “So it’s a little safer now.” Small comforts, surely.

“You’re not that old, right?” Chloe had thought he was around her age, maybe even younger. Were hunters like fae in terms of looking young forever or… was he just being sardonic “No, I guess that makes sense. Sort of. This place is so weird maybe it does make everyone question stuff.” She caught the apple, looking it over before carefully beginning to slice it. The knife slipped as he answered her, Chloe jerking away so she didn’t cut her hand. Friends. Something tightly wound inside her began to unravel a little there, like she’d tied down some part of her all those years ago so that it was too small to be seen by the monster she’d live with. The part of her that sought companionship, friendship. For years, she’d been hard and abrasive to everyone in the house because Lydia would have used anything else against her. But Kaden considered them friends. Or something similar. Chloe almost sobbed, blinking away the heat in her eyes rapidly. “She’s fucking dead,” Chloe echoed, taking a new apples from Kaden’s hand, still dripping with water as she put in on the board. “So I’m a little safer now.” Chloe cleaved the apple in two right through its heart. Some day, that might even sound true.

#writing #wickedswriting #chatzy #chloe #chloeinbetween #emotional abuse tw #domestic abuse tw #terminal illness mention #lydiaplot cw #a pie for help

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seriously-really-soft · 4 years

Text

Levi with a fat MC

a/n: Hi! I know it’s been a while since I last posted, and I am so sorry for the lack of content. I’m working on writing for more characters at the moment. Content that appreciates fat readers is so important, and I don’t think there’s nearly enough content that really shows love for us, so I’m going to continue making stuff like this. I love you, and I hope you know how wonderful you all are!

He is so happy to just exist in the same space as you, having you close is an absolute dream and I think he would really cherish time with you. At first, he thinks that he’s happy enough with being able to see you because even that much would feel a bit overwhelming to him, you know? As you spend more time together and he becomes more comfortable, he’ll cherish you as one of ‘his’ people. I think his fear of judgment makes him a little choosy about who he wants to include in his circle, so him accepting you so wholeheartedly is only proof of how special you are. He thinks that you’re so unbelievably beautiful, he’s grateful to see any and every piece of you that you share with him - he’s so in love with you just knowing you exist is happiness.

He loves discovering new sides to you. He hypes up all your different looks/outfits, and every moment is just him really being so in awe of how lovely you are. He holds every vision of you dear to his heart - the way you are in sadness, happiness, anxiousness, etc; he really just wants to be near and to see more of the person he loves so much. It’s such an intimate form of adoration, he thinks you hold something so precious it can’t be explained within you, and his love for you only grows, even when you leave RAD. There is magic and love in your mannerisms, and he’ll look at every part of you with soft wonder.

He thinks your protruding tummy is gorgeous, plain and simple, and the stretch marks all over your hips, arms, belly, anything really??? They are so incredibly beautiful, he thinks it’s a crime for people to make you feel like your body is anything less than ethereal. The folds of your back, the cellulite, the beauty marks, the acne and/or keratosis pilaris>>>>> You know that legend about your beauty marks and moles being the places your lover from a past life loved kissing you? Yeah, Levi’s going to be like that, he’s going to make sure you feel thoroughly loved, and seeing you feel that way or enjoying his affection makes his heart swell because he just loves you so much

The way every part of you curves to the next is angelic, the way you jiggle and the way your thighs do the Thing when you sit down is beautiful in its own way. Even if you feel like your proportions just don’t make sense, this man thinks it’s gorgeous all the way, and he’ll be very honest with you about that no matter how flustered he may get. He knows how difficult it can be to see the good within yourself, which is why he supports your journey with self love even more

I headcanon that he either makes art or edits of you. It’s such a popular thing in this community, I’m pretty sure he’s gotten into at least one of those things.

His heart aches at seeing you sad or being mean to yourself because it’s like, you’re someone that means so much to him, someone that only gets lovelier with time, someone he loves with all of himself. Seeing someone that brings so much life to the simple act of your existence enduring pain (of any kind) hurts, you know? He wants to hear what you have to say, and he wants to do whatever he can to make you feel better.

Even during any other conversation Levi focuses all of himself towards you when you’re speaking. His body is totally turned towards you, and he looks at you in a way that makes it clear that he’s really seeing you for who you are.

He listens to everything you say about diet culture and your experiences as a fat person in general. He helps find size inclusive stores he thinks you might like, and if you have a certain aesthetic you go for, he’ll have photoshoots for you (the results of which are simply top tier), even setting up certain spaces of yours or his room, you know, for the experience.

He loses his initial shyness when you encounter bullies. If you’re at a point where mean comments don’t mean much to you, he feels proud of you and your achievements with loving yourself, but if not, he’s going to make sure you are supported with people and spaces that make you feel loved and special, spaces that bring you closer to liking yourself.

When you’re confident and not afraid to just let yourself exist? He is going to simp. The sight of you wearing whatever you want or find comfortable regardless of what others might think is exquisite. He loves the way you look at every angle, and it doesn’t matter how you carry your fat, he thinks all of you is beautiful. He loves you for who you are, not in spite of it.

He thinks there’s something incredibly sexy about you really owning the space you take, being so at peace with the way your body moves/exists, knowing and appreciating your softness. This man is really just in awe of how amazing you are

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